Out of Control
by OyHumbug
Summary: Marissa Carter's life is spinning out of control, and it will take the strangest of situations to help her make sense of it. Winner of the Possible Fic Vote  Option 3: road trip, doctor, infidelity, snow, secret  AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey Everyone! Before we get to this chapter, I have a few things to share with you. First of all, the winner of the 'Next Fic Vote' was option number three (road trip, doctor, infidelity, snow, secret). Because I didn't want the length to sway you when you were choosing, I didn't tell you that this particular story is actually a ficlet and will be only five chapters long. Rest assured though, when MMtM ends, another story (option number two in all probability) will start. Secondly, this first chapter focuses SOLELY on Marissa; Ryan is not even introduced yet. We'll meet him soon though, and I think many (if not all of you) will be able to predict how. Just in case someone wanted to know, I'll provide you with the final vote tally: Possible Fic #1 - 12 votes, Possible Fic #2 - 14 votes, and Possible Fic #3 - 21 votes. Thank you to everyone who participated, and I hope you enjoy the tale you selected. :)_

Charlynn

**Out of Control**

Chapter One

There was only one thing worse than spending your morning permanently suspended over the porcelain god – doing so while being observed, mocked, and snickered at by your three teenage daughters. She could hear their laughter, their derisive tones, and their disbelief at the fact that, as they put it, their mother was still getting smashed as thirty-seven. Too absorbed in their own lives, they had no idea that she, unlike the other society women in their close-minded, reputation obsessed bubble of a community, did not drown her pain and sorrow in never ending bottles of champagne. Although she had been trained to hide her unhappiness from both her husband and the world behind a mask of, her mother had taught her to use cool indifference and a fake smile instead of alcohol, and, as she observed her rapidly aging "friends," it was the one thing she could honestly thank Julie Cooper for. Unfortunately, there was nothing else.

"Mom," CJ, her oldest daughter yelled from the down the hall where she was reading about herself in the gossip pages, "do you want me to make you one of my special hangover remedies?"

Marissa ignored her, choosing to forget the fact that her eighteen year old daughter, a soon-to-be college freshman, was not legally old enough to have experienced a hangover and, hence, should not have a tried and true remedy for one. Even if she would chastise her for drinking, it would never do any good. The apple of her father's eye, not to mention his heir, she could do no wrong, and Chace, her husband, would automatically override any punishment she might deem necessary. In essence, she had no sway or power over her children.

Rinsing her mouth out, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror and really looked at herself. What she saw made her want to cry. Her deep indigo eyes were empty, the perfect reminder of the fact that her life served absolutely no purpose. Yes, she was a mother, and, yes, she was a wife, but her daughters barely tolerated her, her husband treated her with less deference than he did his secretary, she had no one to confide in, no one she could trust, no one who would be there for her no matter what, and she was essentially a kept woman. With no career, no inheritance of her own, and no marketable skills, she was stuck in a life where she couldn't even respect herself.

However, feeling sorry for herself wouldn't solve anything. Wetting a washcloth, she wiped at her clammy face, hoping to magically erase the worry induced black circles under her eyes and the lines of duress marring her otherwise still youthful looking features. Her children might think she was hung over, but Marissa suspected that what ailed her would not disappear in a few hours' time; she suspected that it would take approximately another seven months to be cured. All she had to do was make it upstairs to her bedroom where a home pregnancy test awaited her, but, to do so, she would have to get past her kids.

She had barely reached the kitchen and her unusual savior, the saltines, before the three girls started to bombard her with requests.

"I'm hungry. Make me canapés."

"I don't feel well, Quinn," Marissa spoke slowly while attempting to keep her tone free of animosity. She loved her children – she really did, but she was perfectly capable of recognizing their flaws and the fact that all three were spoiled brats. All her attempts to actually parent them while they were younger had been destroyed by her husband's lenient tendencies, indulgent habits, and inability to see his daughters for who they really were. "You know that the smell of food alone makes me feel queasy," she explained. "Have one of your sisters take you out to eat."

"Can't," Eli pronounced while talking and eating a protein bar at the same time. "I have a full day of training planned, and I have no time to spare playing taxi to the little brat. I don't see why you can't take her; it's not like you have anything better to do with your time."

"CJ?"

"Don't look at me," her oldest daughter replied without even bothering to spare her a glance. "You were the one who couldn't keep your legs closed. If you didn't want the responsibility of taking care of your children, you shouldn't have had us. Anyway," she rolled her eyes, "you should just hire her a driver until she gets her license. I'll talk to Daddy about it."

Which meant that Quinn would have a driver before the end of the week, Marissa thought to herself. She had battled her husband twice already over her attempts to police her daughters' social lives, but, after failing both times, she was resigned to letting him give the girls whatever they wanted.

When CJ's friends had started driving before her, she had panicked over the idea of her daughter riding with new drivers. After all, she had been a teenager before and remembered their antics quite well. At fourteen though, CJ hadn't wanted to go out shopping with her older girlfriends or to the beach. No, her daughter, her dark, exotic looking daughter with her black hair, big, brown eyes, and permanently tan skin, had already seriously started dating, not one steady boy but, instead, several wild, wealthy playboys, college freshman and sons of the men Chace golfed with every Sunday at the club. Marissa had forbidden her from riding with them, at least that way she could make an effort to keep her daughter safe, but her husband had quickly overruled her decision, allowing CJ to wander the town and stay out as late as she wanted. By the time she had been old enough to get her license, it had been unnecessary, for there was always an older guy in his top of the line sports car paid for by his rich Daddy waiting for her in the driveway whenever she wanted to go anywhere.

A year later, she had fought to keep Eli safe. Luckily, boys were not a problem with her middle child, but that was simply because she was too obsessed with sports to worry about dating. She said they would only serve to distract her and, determined to make it as a professional athlete, that was something she refused to allow. However, she had insisted upon riding with friends who were driving without a license and doing so herself. Marissa had downright refused, pleading with her daughter and telling her that trouble with the law would only hurt her chances of getting to play sports at a prestigious college; Chace had dismissed her with a chuckle, telling her she worried too much. He would "handle" any cop who tried to get his daughter in trouble, and, as one of the wealthiest men in the state, a personal friend of the governor, and one of the most powerful men in Hollywood thanks to the talent agency he owned and operated, he and his kids could do exactly what they wanted to.

And now here she was again with her youngest child. Quinn wasn't determined to become a businesswoman more powerful than her father like CJ was, and she didn't enjoy manipulating men like her oldest sister either. Unlike Eli, she hated sports and spent most of her time shopping. Essentially, the baby of the family, she was exactly that – a pampered, little princess who had absolutely no direction in her life, no dreams, no ambitions, no goals, and no hobbies, and, now, thanks to her oldest daughter's _brilliant_ idea, Marissa would lose any last vague semblance of power over her. To make matters worse, she felt too wretched to even consider fighting her three girls or her husband on the issue, so, resignedly, she took her crackers, grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, knowing how important proper nutrition was for a woman when she was pregnant, and started to make her way out of the kitchen, completely ignoring her bickering daughters.

"Mother, seriously," Quinn shouted after her, "my breakfast?!"

"The way I see it," Marissa answered, turning around and glaring at the fifteen year old diva, "you have three options. One, call your father and tell him to take you out to eat. Two, get off your high horse and call a cab, or, three and better yet, just eat some damn cereal. Frankly, at this point, I don't care."

"What's wrong with you," CJ queried, sounding suspicious. Pointing towards Marissa's saltines, she observed, "don't you think you're laying it on a little thick here? We get it, okay, you drank too much last night, and now you're paying for it this morning, but crackers, Mom, really? What, are you going to try and trick Daddy into thinking you're pregnant again so he'll pay more attention to you, because, if so, that's just pathetic."

"She has put on a few pounds," Eli snickered, puffing out her cheeks to make fun of Marissa. "Too bad all that's going to do is push Daddy even farther away from her. I mean, if she can't be his perfect trophy wife anymore, what purpose does she serve him at this point?"

"Ugh, just thinking about her pregnant made me lose my appetite. Not even canapés sound appealing now. Thanks a lot, you two."

The three girls continued to ridicule her, and Marissa could hear their laughter as she fled their scornful words and sneering glares. Through the breakfast room, family room, and foyer, up the long, winding stairs, and down the modified hallway which had been tastefully transformed into a small, private art gallery, she made her way to the bedroom she shared with her husband mainly in name only. He was too busy for her, too preoccupied with work, and too distracted, she assumed, by his many affairs and mistresses. In fact, if she was pregnant, it was practically a miracle. Two months prior, they had celebrated nineteen years of marriage and, after the party he had insisted she throw on their behalf, they had had sex, cold, unfeeling, unpleasant sex, for the first time in over a year, and it hadn't happened again since. He had been drunk, and she had been desperate enough to feel close to someone that neither had stopped after they shared their customary, perfunctory goodnight kiss. And now here she was…

Just as she closed the bedroom door behind her, the tears she had been holding back started to fall. Crawling back into bed, the curtains, still drawn to keep the bright, Southern California summer sun out of her eyes, helped her hide from reality, and, just as instinctively as she had reached for the saltines, she forgot about them sitting beside her on her nightstand. As for the pregnancy test she had planned to take, she would rather live in her fantasy world for a little while longer before she was forced back to reality. Nothing in her life ever went the way she planned or wanted it to, so why would this situation, this chance to have more be any different? If she didn't take the test, then it couldn't tell her she wasn't pregnant, and she could, at least for a little while longer, dream of a child who would actually return her love. That was all she wanted, and, hidden away from the rest of the world, her three teenage daughters, her husband, and reality, she could almost believe it to be true. Almost. And, with that hope, her world stopped spinning out of control…even if just for a second.

/ \ \ /

Thirty eight and pregnant! If someone would have told Marissa a year before that those were the two words she would use to describe herself on her next birthday, she would have smiled at them sweetly, immediately rejecting their prediction, and wondered about their mental state. But here she was celebrating her thirty-eighth year of life while, at the same time, preparing to welcome a new one into the world. It was the best present she could have ever wished for.

Standing in front of their bathroom mirror that morning, Marissa, glowing despite the harsh, unforgiving fluorescent lighting, stared at her changing body, observing the new nuances and subtle differences that had not just been there a week before. Completely topless, she simply wore a pair of light shorts, their waistband resting low on abdomen, below the slight bump that foretold of her impending motherhood. That wasn't the only thing screaming 'I'm pregnant' to anyone who would pay attention to her; she had all the signs and was enjoying even the more miserable ones. Unfortunately, it seemed as if no one really wanted to take notice.

Her entire countenance had changed. Her eyes practically sparkled with unvoiced excitement and private joy, her cheeks had a softer, more rounded appearance, and, because she was so happy, they seemed to always be luminescent and rosy with a warmth that came from inside of her, and, if she wasn't careful, she was going to give herself wrinkles from smiling so much. But she couldn't help it. This was the chance she needed, craved, wished for – the chance to make her life worthwhile, to share her love and time with someone who could return her feelings. Yes, she had given birth to three daughters already, but they felt like they were Chace's children and not theirs. They looked like their father, all with dark hair, dark eyes, and dark complexions, and behaved like him as well; they were the sons he never had, all three of them named after past male generations of the Carter family.

This baby was going to be different though, no matter what Marissa had to do. She would name them, she would raise them, and, although she knew it was wrong, she hoped that she would be the only one to love them. Perhaps, she would even be lucky enough to have a blonde haired, blue eyed baby that would look like her and not like Chace, that way no one would be able to deny her connection with her youngest child.

Pushing that thought aside for really it didn't matter, Marissa returned to inspecting her ever-evolving body. The thin, sharp lines of her form, the effect of the strict diet she was to follow and the exercise routine all women of her status engaged in, had been transformed into gentle, supple curves, making her feel delicate, feminine, and beautiful for the first time in years. Her breasts, still firm and youthful, had become fuller, further enhancing her womanly appearance, and her narrow hips were slowly starting to widen as her body prepared itself for birth. Running her hands down her suddenly voluptuous shape, Marissa couldn't help but giggle. Everything unpleasant, her morning sickness which seemed to continue throughout the afternoon and into the evening, her swollen feet, her mood swings, her strange cravings, it was all worth the slight discomfort she was experiencing, not only because she was ecstatic about having another chance at motherhood but also because she looked damn good if she did so say herself.

Her mirth stopped abruptly as soon as Chace entered the bathroom. He was on the phone, his earpiece firmly attached to him at all hours of the day and night just in case there was an emergency at work, and he was getting ready to leave for the office. She could tell by his anxious tone, his officious stance with the conversation, and his dismissive air that he was talking to his secretary, a woman Marissa was convinced was not paid nearly enough for putting up with her husband. During the five minutes they stood in the bathroom together, Chace bullying and yelling, demanding and instructing the entire time, she observed him, saw him shave his face with one hand while flipping through a quarterly profit report with the other.

Normally, she left him alone, but this morning she wanted him to notice her; she wanted him to notice the baby. It wasn't that she wanted to celebrate the good news with him or even share the experience of her pregnancy with her estranged husband, but she wanted him to realize that, unwittingly, he had given her the one thing she wanted most in the world – a chance to matter to someone. It would make him feel out of control, something he hated, and Marissa loved making him feel that way.

But, as his phone call ended, as he put his electric razor back in its proper drawer, and as he walked past her and back into his dressing room, she grasped the fact that he wasn't going to realize anything about her, because, to do so, he would have to notice her, and, to him, she was not only expendable but also invisible.

"Don't worry, baby," she reassured the child growing inside of her, rubbing her slightly swollen abdomen while speaking, "this is a good thing. Whatever he doesn't know, makes us stronger; it gives us an edge over him. No matter what, I'm going to make sure that you feel loved, secure, and happy, even if that means it'll just be you and me against the world…which is starting to look like a very good possibility." Shrugging her shoulders and picking up her discarded t-shirt, Marissa slipped the top back on and moved out of the bathroom, flipping the switch to immerse the marbled space into shadows. "Let's go have breakfast," she suggested to her unborn baby. "How do chocolate chip waffles with grape jelly on them sound?"

/ \ /

CJ was home for Thanksgiving break, and, despite knowing better, Marissa was excited to see her oldest daughter again. True, they had never been close, Chace's namesake always preferring to spend time with her father rather than her mother, but, perhaps it was the warmth and secret happiness her still secret pregnancy brought her, but Marissa felt that maybe now that her daughter didn't live at home, they'd be able to grow closer, that the eighteen year old would learn to love her Mom and not simply write her off or, worse, treat her cruelly.

All three girls were gathered in their home's third floor media room, quietly catching up with one another. She wanted to be there, she wanted to feel a sense of camaraderie with her daughters, she wanted to prove to herself that her unborn child was coming into a family that, although flawed, would love it just as much as she did. Taking the stairs slowly for she was starting to tire easily from the strains of her pregnancy, Marissa, clad in a baggy pair of sweats to disguise her rounded, six month, swollen belly, made her way from her bedroom to the in-home theater, eager to see her three daughters and hoping they, for once, could return the sentiment. However, before she could make her presence known, she heard their voices and stopped dead in her tracks.

"So, you met Daddy's newest girlfriend, didn't you," Quinn asked her oldest sister.

"Yeah," the college freshman snorted. Marissa could imagine her eyes rolling dramatically while she talked. "Nadia – she's from Russia, and, like his usual type, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and legs that go on for miles. I think the reason they get along so well is that she barely speaks English, and, even though Daddy can speak several foreign languages, he's not fluent in Russian. She has taught him a few _important_ words though."

"You know she's one of his newest clients, don't you?" That was Eli, and her mother could tell that she was speaking to her little sister by the contemptuous tone of her voice. Both of her older daughters thought they were better than their younger siblings, if only because of their bank accounts, thanks to the yearly increase in their generous allowance from their father. "He signed her a few months back as a model, but, listen to this," the brunette athlete chuckled, "she wants to act, too."

"Don't they all," CJ added. "Anyway, Daddy brought Nadia with him last Tuesday when he came out for our ritual, weekly dinner. We actually made a whole day of it. While he took the opportunity to take care of some business, the girlfriend and I hit the stores to exercise our Black Am-Ex's."

"Daddy gave Nadia a credit card already," Quinn complained. "That's not fair! I didn't get mine until I was thirteen."

"How else do you think Daddy gets 21 year old fashion models to date him, especially when they clearly know that he's married with children and that they have no chance of landing him as a husband? The arrangements have to be mutually beneficial to the both of them, Tarquinn." That was Marissa's youngest daughter's full name, and everyone in the family knew she hated it, which was precisely the reason Eli – Elias – used it. If she could say nothing else about her husband's family, Marissa had to admit that they had passed down some rather original (okay, slightly weird) names to the younger generations.

"Fuck off," the fifteen, soon to be sixteen, year old told her sister. Taking the chill out of her voice, she inquired of CJ. "How was shopping with her?"

"Great," her oldest child answered. Marissa could hear the smile in her words. "So, I couldn't really understand what she was saying to me most of the time, but it was kind of like shopping with an older foreign exchange student. Besides," the raven haired young woman continued, "she has great taste and loved picking out clothes for me to try on while I was in the dressing room. I think she thought of me as a giant Barbie doll she could play with, but it worked to my advantage – as I always make sure things do."

"And what's Daddy going to do about the holidays," Eli wanted to know. "Is he going to spend it at home with us, or do you think he'll go away with Nadia?"

"Well," her eighteen year old daughter confessed cattily, "the one thing I know is that he's going to do whatever he can to not spend it with Mother. In fact, Daddy's going to try to work it so that the three of us can go with him and Nadia to Monte Carlo for Christmas."

The girls all cheerfully started to discuss the various things they wanted that year for presents, all the while planning their trip abroad and discussing more details about their father's mistress, but, at that point, Marissa couldn't listen anymore. Moving much more quickly than she had while climbing up the stairs, she descended to the second floor and ran swiftly to her room where she hid, once again, from both the pain her children inflicted upon her and the fear she felt for them. Gone were the beautiful babies who would cry out at night only to be soothed by her arms. The happy, smiling, sweet toddlers they once were had been replaced with the cold, unfeeling, cynical young women who not only took everything in their lives for granted but who saw nothing wrong with a man cheating on his wife. To them, if _Daddy_ wanted something, _Daddy _should and would get it, and that's exactly how they approached their own lives, too.

It didn't hurt that her husband was cheating on her…again; what hurt was the fact that her daughters had no regard for how his infidelity would affect her. They approved of his relationship with Nadia, and they would condone any future indiscretion he would participate in. Because they were her children and because she could still remember the good traits they had once had but had long since forgotten, she would always love the three of them, but that did not mean she understood them anymore, that she could respect or even like them. To her, CJ, Eli, and Quinn were practically strangers. There and then, she vowed that the child she was carrying would be different. Somehow she would protect him or her from ever turning into the cruel women their sisters had become. How she would accomplish this though was still a mystery.

/ \ \ /

Seven months pregnant, some of the joy Marissa had been experiencing about her pregnancy had been replaced with apprehension and fear. Somehow, she was still managing to keep the baby a secret from everyone in her life. True, her children were almost as self-absorbed as their father, but even the townspeople she associated with while going about her errands were oblivious to the fact that, in just two shorts months, she would be welcoming into the world a brand new, bouncing baby boy or girl.

Although both she and the baby were perfectly healthy – she having gained just two pounds more than her target weight and the baby predicted to be born at approximately seven pounds, twenty inches, though that could change as her due date approached – Marissa was starting to panic. In her effort to keep the baby to herself, she had avoided purchasing any of the necessary supplies. Because both she and Chace had agreed to stop after three children, they had donated their baby furniture and clothes to a local charity, so she couldn't even reuse the functional things from her girls. So, with only nine weeks to go, she still needed to purchase a bassinet, a crib, clothes, diapers, and all the other necessary baby accoutrements, she still had to decorate a nursery, and she still had to decide on a name – a very feminine name if she had a girl and a chic, modern name if she had a boy.

To make matters worse, she had absolutely no energy to do anything. Suddenly, she realized why doctors frowned upon women in their late thirties and early forties having children; the female body just wasn't as equipped as it was when younger to handle the pressure and stress of being pregnant. She was exhausted after a few hours of minimal work, whether she was attempting to relax why taking a walk on the beach, browsing through the mall, or taking care of her household responsibilities. Marissa never missed her afternoon naps which, occasionally, stretched into a really early bedtime, and she often wished she could take both a morning and afternoon siesta. Her feet were constantly sore, the ache in her back was continuous, and the hormone induced tears were gone only to be replaced by an iron hot anger that she generally directed at the entire world and everyone on it except her unborn baby.

Currently, it was a week before Christmas. CJ had come home from Columbia the night before, laden down with pre-holiday presents for her sisters (and Nadia) – designer clothes that could only be purchased in New York City. Thanks to her father's name and sizeable, offshore bank accounts, she was a valued customer at Hermes and had returned with _Kelly _bags for both Eli and Quinn. (Of course, she already had two for herself.) There were shoes and scarves, dresses and jeans, jewelry and purses, shirts and even bathing suits from next season's spring line, but her oldest child had returned home without a single thing for her mother. Not that Marissa could have worn it at that point, but she would have appreciated the thought.

They were to leave for their trip to Monte Carlo with their father (and Nadia) in two days, but, before they went, CJ was attempting to catch up with the dozens of friends she had left behind that fall when leaving for college. She had ignored Marissa's wishes for a quiet afternoon and had invited over a score of people – fellow college students who attended different prestigious schools all so that their fathers could brag about their children's education and not because they had any particularly strong desire to learn, older friends who had either already finished with school or had dropped out, and even a new acquaintance she had met in first class on the plane while flying home.

Marissa sighed, closing her eyes and tenderly rubbing her pregnant abdomen as she tried to relax and block out the sounds of twenty-five people cavorting around her living room, yelling, dancing, singing, and, no doubt, destroying everything they came in contact with. Although such a thing wasn't out of the ordinary, she still wished the commotion away. However, she told herself, in two days time, she'd have the house to herself and would be able to sleep in late, take bubble baths in the middle of the day, and watch sappy chic flicks at night while eating ice cream right from the carton and lying in bed. Despite being untraditional, it would undoubtedly be the best Christmas she had spent in a long, long time – just her, the baby, and the silence.

Just as she was about to doze off, a loud, resounding crash carried through the house, upstairs, and past her closed bedroom door. Most things in the house meant little or even nothing to her. They were all chosen by an interior designer, over priced, and definitely the exact opposite of her taste. In fact, there was only one thing in the house that mattered to her. It was a simple, hand painted vase that her grandmother had given her as a child, telling her that it had belonged to her great grandmother and that it was to be passed down throughout the generations of their family. Marissa had planned to give it to one of her daughters…or perhaps a granddaughter someday, because her girls seemed disinterested in their heritage.

As she got out of bed and made her way downstairs, clad in baggy pajamas and an oversized robe to hide her burgeoning belly, she had a dark, nagging dread that the crash she had heard earlier had been her very treasured vase shattering. It was displayed proudly on the fireplace mantle of the family room, and, as she made her way there, she noticed that the entire house, as she had predicted, was destroyed. It would take their cleaning lady days to return it to its usual state of perfection even with Marissa's help. Without a doubt, there had been thousands of dollars worth of damage already wrecked upon the Newport Beach mansion, but she could care less what her daughters and their friends touched and ruined as long as her vase was safe, but, as she rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the hub of the house where the twenty-five teenagers and young adults were gathered, she realized her concern had been warranted.

The delicate colored glass with the petite flowers painted in a whimsical pattern was completely smashed, and, as the various people passed by it, they simply continued to walk on its tiny pieces, obliterating them to a fine dust and putting an end to any hope she may have had at gluing the vase back together. Marissa knew she shouldn't break down in front of her daughters or their friends, but she couldn't help herself, and, right there as she leaned up against the wide doorjamb, the tears started falling down her pale, tired face as quiet sobs wracked her rounded form. CJ stopped to stare at her, barely concealing her dislike for her and the rage she felt at being interrupted, Eli was too absorbed in a game of ping pong to notice her presence, and Quinn was making out with a guy who looked to be at least six years older than she was and completely oblivious to everything going on around her, but Marissa didn't care.

It felt as if more than just her great-grandmother's vase had been shattered. With it broke her strength to stay, her will to try with her family, and her patience with her entire life. The illusion she had been living under that somehow everything would work itself out once she had the baby was destroyed, and, suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

Without a word, she left the family room, went back upstairs, and quietly packed a couple of bags, leaving behind most of her things and the life she had been living for the past nineteen and half years. Her daughters never noticed, and, even if they would have, Marissa knew they wouldn't have cared enough to stop her.

By saying goodbye to her past, she was giving her unborn child the future it deserved.

/ \ \ /

For two weeks she had been "on the run" as she termed it, though she severely doubted the fact that anyone in her family was even remotely concerned about her, and, when she thought about, she really didn't want them to be. Instead, she wanted a clean break to all her ties in Newport, so, with that in mind, she cut up the credit cards that her husband paid for, simply took the same amount of money out of their joint account that she had come into their marriage with ($64, 832.91 – how she remembered that, Marissa had no idea), and traveled northeast where she had encountered snow.

She, and she hoped her baby someday would, too, loved snow, but her car didn't. Marissa tried to drive slowly, tried to pay attention, but it was late, she was tired, and she was slightly bored and singing along with The Pixies. Their music was fun, energetic, absolutely the exact opposite of anything Chace would have ever approved of her listening to, and, by the time it was too late to do anything, she realized the wrong thing to be listening to for it was distracting.

Her car started to skid out of control, and, when she went to right it, she overcorrected and sent the small sedan spinning in circles. By the time it was over, she had no idea how many times she had completed a 360 degree turn, what she had hit, or where she had landed. All she knew was that she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, her car was almost out of gas, and she was starting to get cold. Oh, and she was also 32 weeks pregnant. Too bad all she could do was wait…and hope, the Pixies no longer singing to amuse and divert her. Instead, she was surrounded with the silence of the night, the howling wind, and fear for her baby's wellbeing, for she needed help in a world where very few people liked to offer it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hypochondriacs were both the bane of his existence and the saving grace – talk about conflicting emotions. While nothing annoyed the good doctor more than being roused from bed at two in the morning to _treat_ the neighborhood complainer, the young woman's constant imagined illnesses were something he could count on every month to line his pockets. If he was ever able to hand up his stethoscope early, he knew who he would thank first at his celebratory, retirement dinner. However, even that thought wasn't comforting enough to soothe his agitation that evening. No one had business being out on the roads if they could help it. He knew that, but, apparently, his patient either didn't realize how treacherous traveling was during a snow storm or she didn't care.

What she had claimed to be appendicitis during her frantic phone call that roused him from a deep slumber ended up turning out to be gas of all mundane, non-medical emergency things. He had given her some over the counter pills, left her his bill which was double his usual rate for the inconvenience, and had started on his journey home as quickly as he could, tired, cold, and moderately pissed off. Under normal driving conditions, the hypochondriac's home was just a fifteen minute trip from his, but, between the snow, the ice, and the wind, he had managed to travel just five minutes of his normal route in a half an hour. At the pace he was going, it would be dawn before he pulled into his own driveway, leaving him with just a few hours to sleep and get ready for the day ahead of him – a day filled with patients with real, legitimate claims of illness. At least his practice was in his home, so he wouldn't be forced to leave and traverse the dangerous roads again, and, if he was lucky, he'd be able to grab a quick catnap during his scheduled lunch break. Still though, the hypochondriac had him annoyed enough that she was scratched from the next year's Christmas list, and, in their small town where everyone knew everybody and their business, that was a serious, harsh form of revenge.

With that thought in mind, his trip started to pass more favorably. True, the conditions of the roads did not improve, but his ideas of payback proved to be entertaining enough to distract him slightly from his irritation and, in their own way, calmed him. In fact, he was just a few miles from home and contemplating the idea of taking the day…or at least the morning off when the sight of a ditched car made him take notice. Its lights were off, the snow was quickly piling over the top of it, hiding away most of the car's exterior, and, with no tracks going from the vehicle or evidence of the accident, it was hard to tell how long the car had been there. In fact, he could have easily passed it on his way to the hypochondriac's house and, being too distracted by his frustration with his chronically overreacting patient, not noticed it.

The question that bothered him the most though was whether the owner of the car was still in it. Just by looking at the vehicle, it was impossible to tell, but, surely, no one was crazy enough to remain out in the elements on a treacherous night like the one they were experiencing that cold, January evening. The driver had probably called a family member or a friend to help them, simply leaving their car for morning when it would be easier for a tow truck to get it out. The good doctor knew his thoughts were sensible, but he had a nagging feeling he was wrong, and, after nearly forty years of trusting his instincts, he slowed his car which was barely crawling down the road to a stop, put its four-ways on after parking it, and made the trek to the ditched sedan, soaking himself in the process.

As he made his way towards the unfamiliar vehicle, he couldn't help but be in two minds again. While he hoped that the person inside was safely out of harm's way and warm in bed somewhere, another part of him hoped that his efforts were not in vain. If they were, not only had his instincts let him down, but he would be chancing pneumonia for nothing. The closer he got to the car though, the more sure he was that someone was still in there.

The plates were not local; in fact, they were from California, and, since there had been no news of anyone's relatives coming to visit, he figured the driver was either a tourist (who happened to be unlucky enough to pick the one week out of the year where the small town experienced its worst weather) or simply passing through (and had been unlucky enough to map out the wrong route). Thankfully though, their luck seemed to save itself for the really important matters. If the car would have traveled just a few inches more, it would have collided with a telephone poll squarely against the driver's side door; if the car would have traveled just a few inches more, the driver, in all likelihood, would be dead.

As it was, it was difficult for the doctor to make out just how much damage the car had sustained prior to finally ditching itself, for it was too buried in snow. Reaching the passenger side which was on the higher ground and, therefore, not as snowed in, he attempted to open the door and was relieved to see that it wasn't locked. Although he would have broken the window if necessary, it was definitely preferable that he didn't have to.

Pulling the heavy metal back, he fought against the elements to get inside of the vehicle. The storm raging around him seemed determined that he would not help the stranded driver…if there was one, but the good doctor was determined. Bracing the door against his hip to keep it propped open, he peered inside. Immediately, the cold air seemed to steal his breath right from his body. Whatever he had been expecting – an elderly, misguided, old woman with poor driving skills and even poorer common sense to not know that driving during a Colorado snow storm was a bad idea, a young teenager trying to get back home before their parents realized they had broken curfew to sneak out with their friends, a middle aged man attempting to leave work early so he could check and make sure his family was safe, – what greeted him was not something he could have predicted.

She was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. Yes, she was beautiful, almost tragically so, but the air of sadness, of loneliness, of almost desperation that shrouded her still and resting face made him feel as if he already knew her. It wasn't the fact that they both had blonde hair, that their skin seemed to have a perpetual golden hue to it, and that, if he would examine her by opening her closed eyes, he would find that she, too, had blue eyes the color of the ocean; instead, the good doctor could just sense that they were practically the same person, that they had been through similar experiences of rejection and pain, that they, if given the chance, could be the friend the other had wanted, had needed their whole lives. But then his eyes scanned across her body looking for visible injuries, and, immediately, the medical professional inside of him kicked in.

He lived his life by the motto 'Never do harm.' It had been drilled into him during his teenage years by his mentor, it had been reinforced while he had been in school, and it had been the one thing his mentor had said to him while he had been on his deathbed. So, putting aside his suddenly sentimental feelings towards the woman who was nothing more than a stranger he had happened upon during a storm, he unbuckled her seatbelt, lifted her form, surprisingly light for a woman who was so obviously pregnant, out of the car, and made his way back to his own still running vehicle.

Her skin was cool to the touch, the jeans and long sweater she was wearing doing little to keep her body warm without the aid of the car's heater, and, with the light provided by the moon, he could see that her lips were starting to turn blue. A few minutes more of remaining in her wrecked car would surely have meant hypothermia for the mother-to-be, and, if he hadn't of been passing through when he did, well,…he really didn't want to think about what fate probably would have met the woman and her unborn child. Suddenly, the hypochondriac was back on the Christmas card list.

Settling the stranger into the passenger seat of his car, he couldn't help but observe her more closely with the aid of his car's lights. She appeared to be in her thirties, but the doctor guessed that she was younger than him, perhaps even by as much as five or six years. It would be simple to find out – all he had to do was go back to her car, get her purse, and read over her license, but, for reasons he did not understand himself, he didn't want to invade her privacy that way. Instead, he wanted her to tell him herself after she woke up. Buckling her into the car, he put the seat back and ran around to the driver's side, climbing in. With the heat cranked as high as it would go and completely directed upon the unconscious woman, he set out for his home.

With the weather, they would never make it to a hospital, and he was convinced that, for now, he would be able to take care of her. After all, the most important thing was to monitor her while she slept and to make sure her body temperature came up. Those two things he was perfectly equipped to handle on his own. At the house, he had plenty of blankets, hot water bottles, and a large, warm, comfortable bed for the mother-to-be to rest in, and, now that he was fully awake and interested in his patient's case, it would be easy for him to sit up and watch her for the rest of the night, especially if he kept the practice closed the next day. The weather would give him the perfect excuse, and, once he was sure that the stranger and her unborn child were healthy, he would sleep during the afternoon.

"Don't worry," the good doctor spoke up, releasing his right hand from the steering wheel to find the woman's left. "I'm going to take care of you…both of you. Everything is going to be alright. I promise."

/ \ \ /

The knock on his front door made the good doctor stand up from the chair he had occupied since returning home several hours earlier that morning with the unknown woman. The first thing he had done was place her in his bed, covering her with every comforter available and turning the electric blanket to its highest temperature. After a quick examination, he had determined that both mother and child were going to be fine. The baby seemed to be healthy as far as his rudimentary tools could ascertain, moving contentedly around his or her mother's stomach, and she only seemed to be suffering from a light concussion which was nothing he couldn't handle. Even with that knowledge, he was still unwilling to leave her side for long, and he definitely was not going to go to sleep until he could reassure himself that his prognosis was correct.

"Thanks for doing this for me, Hank. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem, Doc," the tow truck driver returned genially, smiling at the older man. "You've helped me out in a pinch before, so just consider this as my way of returning the favor."

Holding the door open, he invited the other man in. "So, how much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," Hank protested. "I just hope that the little lady who was driving that car is going to be okay."

"How did you…"

"You look at the signs and figure out what ails us, Doc," the two truck driver explained. "Well, I can look at a car and figure out what type of person the driver is. That car I brought here is about 95 of the time driven by a woman. Am I wrong?"

"No, you're not."

"So, who is she," the younger man pressed. It was this type of situation that would have the whole town talking within hours…if they weren't already. Every gossip would come up with their own version of the truth, and, before he knew what was happening, the good doctor's name would be the only thing on everyone's mind. A mystery woman saved from the storm by the local general practitioner would set tongues wagging for weeks, especially once the community found out she was pregnant. "I noticed her plates weren't from around here. They're from California…where you're originally from. She your sister?"

"I don't have a sister, Hank. In fact, at this point, I probably don't have any family left."

"See," the mechanic smiled, a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye, "that's what I told the missus when we talked earlier. She called me up on my cell phone while I was making my way here, asking me all these questions. She said it was probably your sister, but I told her you didn't have one, that not even the old man would have been able to keep that big of a secret from all of us townsfolk."

"You were right."

"So, since she's not your sister, I figured she was a colleague of yours."

This caught the good doctor's attention. "What makes you say that?"

"I might not know much," the tow drunk driver shared, "but even I can recognize nice things, and that lady friend of yours was traveling with some very pricy luggage, you know that fancy kind you see on TV with the L and the V on it. What's the dude's name again who makes it…Luis Vutton?"

"Louis Vuitton?"

"That's it," Hank snapped his fingers and pointed in recollection. When I saw those bags, I knew she had money, and, since you're helping her, I figured she must be another doctor."

"Nope, not a doctor," the older man revealed. "We're just…acquaintances, but, since she needed some help, I brought her here."

"Was she seriously hurt, Doc?"

"Just a concussion," the medical professional answered. It was an easy decision for him to withhold information about the baby. "She'll be like new in a day or two, but, for now, she's resting, and I should get back to her soon to check on her. Would you mind giving me a hand and helping me get her bags into the house?"

"No problem," the mechanic agreed willingly. As they made their way out towards the car, he kept talking, his tone suddenly becoming quite somber and serious. "That little lady friend of yours is quite lucky."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I'm sure you saw how close she was to that phone pole," Hank explained, "and, as I was loading up her car, I took a look to see where she started losing control, and she must have been going pretty fast to land so far away from her first set of skid marks. If she would have hit that pole as fast as I think she was going when she hit that ditch, she probably wouldn't be with us right now." Not noticing the good doctor's paling face, he continued. "And I don't even want to imagine how ugly it would have been if another car would have been passing through when she was spinning in circles. It would have been one of the scariest accidents we've seen around these parts in quite a few years. Someone was watching out for her, that's for sure. I take it she's not used to driving during our Colorado winter storms."

Shaking the frightening images of a deadly accident involving the mother-to-be and her unborn child from his mind, the older man settled his attention back upon the mechanic. "What?"

"Well, she's a beach bunny, isn't she," Hank queried. "The missus and I took the kids to Disneyland once a few years back, so I know where Orange County is. This was probably the first time your lady friend ever had to drive in a snow storm."

The good doctor hadn't noticed the county name on her license plate, but he took the tow truck driver for his word. After all, it definitely fit with her appearance. "How about the car," he asked, changing the subject. "Was there much damage?"

"You won't believe it," the younger man chuckled. "but it made it out of that accident with barely a scratch. Now, I didn't get underneath it or anything, but, from what I could tell, it looks like only a flood light was broken during the wreck. Things could have been a lot worse."

"That," the general practitioner stated, "is one thing I am well aware of." Stepping back inside of the house, he put the suitcases that he had been carrying down by the door and, after Hank had done the same, held his hand out for the mechanic to shake. "Thanks again."

"Anytime, Doc. You just make sure you take care of that little lady, and, if you need anything, give me or the missus a call. She mentioned something about wanting to drop off a casserole later on today anyway, so…"

"Tell your wife that's not necessary. I appreciate it, but the patient won't be up and eating solid foods for a few days. She has a concussion."

"Will do, and," Hank shuffled his feet, dropped his eyes, and played with the bill of his cap, the sure signs that he was feeling nervous. Strange women, the doctor knew, always had that effect upon him. "Could you just let her know that we'll all be thinking about her and hoping for the best?"

"Of course." Waving goodbye, the older man watched as the mechanic made his way back to the driveway. "Thanks again," he yelled, standing there by the front door until the truck was out of sight.

As he made his way back towards his bedroom and the woman he knew nothing about, the good doctor noticed her purse sitting on the counter of his kitchen. Obviously, Hank had carried that piece of luggage in. Once again, he suppressed the urge to find out everything he could about the mother-to-be, his need to make her feel secure in his home more pressing than his desire to gratify his curiosity. Like he had reasoned before, he would simply wait, and, eventually, she would tell him herself who she was, and sharing a conversation with the unknown woman would, in the long run, be much more satisfying than snooping through her purse. He just hoped he wouldn't have to wait too much longer.

/ \ \ /

He was still sitting by her beside late that afternoon when his patient's eyelashes started to flutter open. Setting aside his book, something he had merely been holding to keep his hands occupied and not actually reading, the doctor focused all his attention upon the stranger. In just a few moments, he could tell that she was nervous, that not knowing where she was or who she was with had put her on edge, and that her concussion was still causing her pain for she winced from the bedside light. Quickly, without a second's thought, he stood up and turned it off, only returning to his seat after he made sure the curtains were pulled and that she was still completely covered.

"Is there someone you want me to call for you – your family, perhaps?"

The woman's voice was soft and raspy from lack of use. "I don't have any family."

"That's something we have in common then." He smiled to reassure her. "What about a friend? Surely, there's someone who would want to be there for you, maybe your baby's father?"

"How did you…"

"I'm a doctor," he answered, not needing her to finish her sentence. "If I didn't notice that you were pregnant, I shouldn't really have a license to practice medicine, should I? But, even if I wasn't a doctor, I'd still be able to tell. What are you…about seven months along?"

"I have six weeks left until my due date."

"Well, I know you've probably heard this so much you want to scream, but congratulations."

"I…uh…thank you," the mother-to-be whispered sincerely. "You're actually the first to say that to me." When he went to ask why, she held up a hand to stop him. "I've sort of…kept my pregnancy a secret."

Immediately, the doctor was alarmed. "Are you okay? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"It's nothing like that," she assured him, attempting to push herself up in the bed but failing when a spell of dizziness overcame her. "There was just no one I wanted to share the news with."

"I feel honored then. However," his warm smile faltered as he stood up, "now that you're awake and the storm has stopped, I think we should get you to the nearest hospital. I checked the baby when we got back here early this morning, and it appears to be fine, but I don't have the proper equipment to perform a sonogram."

"It's fine," he heard her say, assuming she meant that she understood his reasoning and didn't mind that they had to leave, but, when she continued, her words and their meaning caught him off guard. "I mean…we're fine. Sure, my head feels like it's about to explode…"

"That's the concussion."

"But I would know if there was something wrong with my baby. After all, I haven't been through this three times before not to learn anything."

"But,…" he stumbled with his words, "I thought you said that you didn't have any family."

"I don't."

"But…"

"It's a long story, but it's mine, and I really don't feel like sharing it." Trying for a second time to sit up in bed, she failed again. "If you could just help me up, I'll call a cab, pay you for your trouble, and be out of your way. I'm sure there's a hotel nearby that I can find a room in."

"You're not going anywhere," he contradicted her. "You need to be under a doctor's supervision for the next forty-eight hours because of your head injury, so that leaves you with two options. Option number one, you let me take you to the hospital, or, option number two, you stay in that bed until I say otherwise."

The mother-to-be observed him closely before speaking. "Why do you care so much?"

"It's what I do – take care of people," he said in response, "but, more than that, I was the one who found you. Until I know that you and your baby are alright, I won't be able to focus on anything else. Plus," he shrugged compassionately, "I know what it's like to be running from something and needing someone to care about you."

She turned away from him and refused to meet his eye. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Your insistence that you not go to a hospital, your out-of-state license plates, all the luggage – you're running from something. It doesn't matter to me what it is. Would I like you to feel comfortable enough with me to share your story, of course, but I won't force you. Our situations might be different, but I was in your shoes once, and, just like someone took the time to care enough about me to help, I'm going to do the same for you."

"Okay," the woman agreed, settling back down in the bed and pulling the blankets up closer to her chin. "I'll stay." The doctor retook his seat, and they sat together in silence for several minutes until she spoke up again. "What happened?"

He knew with those two words what she was asking him. "I was fourteen when I ran away from home."

She gasped. "That young?"

"I didn't feel young. In fact, when I think about growing up, I really don't ever remember being a kid. Where I grew up, most fourteen year olds were treated as adults. By then, you were supposed to already be a man." Laughing ironically, he rolled his eyes. "Obviously, those who came up with that idea had no idea what they were talking about, because I was nowhere close to being an adult at that point."

"Is that what made you run away – the unrealistic expectations?"

"Honestly, no," he answered. "At that point, I really didn't even think about it. I ran away to escape from my family."

"Escape," the stranger agreed with him. "I know what that means."

"It's your typical story, really," the good doctor continued. "I was born into a poor family, the younger of two boys, we lived in a town surrounded with poverty, crime, and a general sense of hopelessness, and things, from there, just seemed to steadily get worse. My Dad lost his job, resorted to crime, and, eventually went to jail, leaving my alcoholic mother with two kids to raise. She would bounce from job to job, never staying at one for longer than a month or two, and from guy to guy. They ranged from hard working men who had settled for a life of near destitution to freeloaders who brought only misery and drugs into my Mom's life. Some of them were good to my brother and I; some were abusive, but, when my brother joined a gang, I realized there was nothing left for me at home, so I took off, unwilling to follow in either my Dad's, my Mom's, or my brother's footsteps."

"How did you ever survive when you were only fourteen?"

"I always looked older than I was," the doctor confessed, "so people would give me odd jobs in exchange for room and board or money. I made my way from town to town hitchhiking, and things were going well until I got to Colorado and the winter months started to set in."

"Boy," she quipped, surprising him by smiling slightly, "this is starting to sound familiar."

"Except, luckily for me, I didn't get into an accident. One day I was just wandering around town, looking for work, when I ran into an elderly gentleman. He took one look at me, turned his back, and yelled for me to follow him over his shoulder. The next thing I knew I was shoveling his driveway, scrubbing floors, and helping old woman to their cars. He lived here, ran his practice from his home, and, without asking me a single question, he took me under his wing and became my mentor.

"I went to school during the day and worked in the evenings. He didn't talk much, but that suited me just fine; I wasn't really very talkative either. We seemed to have a silent understanding of acceptance, and that worked for us. When I graduated from high school, he, without a word on either of our parts, put me through college. At that point, I really didn't know what I wanted to do, but I did know that I wanted to make something of my life, and I wanted the old gentleman to be proud of me. I worked hard, got good grades, but, a semester prior to my graduation, he became sick and died before anyone could even figure out what was wrong with him. Even as a doctor himself, he refused to get help."

"He was stubborn," the mother-to-be commented, "and, apparently, he passed that trait down to you."

The blonde haired, blue eyed man simply shrugged in recognition, neither confirming nor denying her statement. "I made it home in time to see him before he passed away, and, even on his deathbed, he was thinking of me and not himself. He told me to 'Never do harm,' the Hippocratic oath, and, in that moment, I knew I was going to go ahead to medical school. You see, he knew I wanted to be a doctor even before I did."

"What happened after that?"

"Well, he didn't have any family, had never married and, therefore, had no children, always the perpetual bachelor, he used to claim, so everything he owned, he left to me. I went to medical school, reopened his practice here after I graduated, and I haven't looked back since."

"And your family," she prompted him.

He knew that she was merely making conversation and not digging for information on his marital status, but he liked the fact that she was asking the question nonetheless. "I'm not married, and I have no kids. It's become the local joke that the cabin is cursed, that any man who lives here will die a bachelor. I'm not convinced there's a curse on the cabin itself but perhaps there is one on the profession of a small town general practitioner. We seem to live by the motto all work and no play."

"Makes _you_ a dull boy; all work and no play makes _you_ a mere toy," the stranger finished the proverb for him. "You seem happy with your life though, content."

"I am."

"Then it doesn't matter that you're still single. Marriage and parenthood aren't everything they're cracked up to me all the time."

The story of his life had, evidently, served its purpose. He had meant to set her at ease, to make her trust him, and to make her feel comfortable enough with him to share her own story. Instead of saying that though, the good doctor simply sat back in his chair and relaxed to listen to her tale.

"On the outside, I had the perfect life – a husband, three beautiful children, an amazingly home, and more money than any one person could spend in ten lifetimes, but none of it made me happy. I married before I was old enough to understand what marriage meant, and, as for love, that was just a word to me at that point. I thought that if a man smiled at you, gave you lavish presents, and wanted to spend time with you, that he, surely, was in love with you, too. I mistook my husband's attention for real affection and married him without even a second's pause to really think about what I was doing. By the time I realized I was nothing but his trophy wife and that I was, myself, in love with a fairytale I had created in my mind and not the reality I existed in, we already had three daughters.

"I'll never forget that day. The girls and I had gone shopping for their Easter dresses, and, while we were walking through the mall, I spotted my husband with his mistress – his eighteen year old, perfectly groomed, model mistress, and there I was in my baggy, post-baby sweats pushing around a triple stroller. CJ was three, Eli would be two in a couple of weeks, and Quinn was just an infant, and he was parading his girlfriend around the town we lived in with our children without a care in the world and for anyone to see. Instead of confronting him though, I ignored him, continued on my way, and never said a thing. At that point, it was more important to me to protect my children than to confront my husband's betrayal.

"Things continued like that for years. I tried to parent the children; my husband undermined me. I played the role I was cast as – his devoted wife; he ignored me, treated me with disrespect, and, eventually, his disdain for me rubbed off on the girls, and they started treating me the same way. To them, what I said didn't matter, my feelings were meant to be disregarded, and the only time they took notice of me was when they would make fun and laugh at me. I was essentially invisible in my own home, and it would have, in all likelihood, continued forever if I hadn't of become pregnant, which, by the way, was a complete fluke."

"A one night stand," the good doctor pondered out loud. Her harsh glare was all the answer he needed, but she spoke anyway.

"Just because he cheated on me, I didn't feel as if that gave me a free pass to do that to him as well. No matter what, I was going to be able to hold my head up in that marriage. Even if my fidelity meant nothing to my husband, it meant something to me, because I gave my word."

"So then how…"

"It was our anniversary," she answered, smirking. "He got drunk and must have been so desperate to get laid that even his, at the time, thirty-eight year old wife worked well enough to satisfy the itch. As for me, well, what can I say? I was lonely."

"Living as a bachelor, I can understand that," he commiserated. "How did your family react to the news of the baby?"

"They didn't." His confused expression spurred her on. "Like I told you, I never told them, and, because they paid such little attention to me, it was quite easy to hide the baby from them. That's why I don't want to go to the hospital. If word got back to my husband where I was or that I was pregnant…"

"He'd come after you," he finished for her. "May I ask what finally pushed you over the edge and made you run away?"

"To be blunt, my daughters are spoiled, ungrateful, insensitive brats. Don't get me wrong, they are still my children and, so, I love them, but I don't like them, and I refused to let this baby grow up the same way they did. I want something better for this child. For months, I would spend sometimes whole days just thinking about how I could escape, how I could save this baby from the inevitable, but then they shattered my vase, and, with it, I broke, too.

"Suddenly, I saw my life for what it really was. My marriage was an illusion designed to simply give my husband the good name he coveted in his business and the community, my children, if they noticed me, mocked me – they didn't return my love, the house I lived in felt like a prison and not a home, the money had never meant anything to me, and I didn't have a single, _real _friend. There was absolutely nothing tying me any longer to my life, so I packed my bags, I took the same amount of money out of our joint account that I had come into our marriage with, and I left. And now, here I am."

"But where are you going?"

This inquiry made her laugh, but it was not a sound of mirth or even amusement. Rather, the humorous chuckle was filled with uncertainty, desperation, and anxiety. Shrugging, she revealed, "I have no idea."

"We'll figure it out as we go."

"We," she questioned, quirking her left eyebrow at him. "Who said anything about a we here?"

"You're going to be here for a while; we've already established that," the doctor responded. "So, while you're confined to that bed, we'll talk, we'll think about your options, and, before you leave here, we'll have something figured out. By the way," he added, standing up, "my name's Ryan, Ryan Atwood."

"Marissa Carter, but I think I'm going to go back to using my maiden name."

"Which is what?"

"Cooper," the mother-to-be revealed. "My maiden name is Cooper, and, speaking of names, I'm glad you decided to introduce yourself. I'd feel very awkward letting a man I could only refer to as 'Sir' see me naked."

"Wha…what," Ryan stumbled over his words.

"I think we've already established the fact that I can't sit up without getting dizzy, so there is no way I would be able to find my way to the bathroom by myself, and, as you so astutely noticed, I'm pregnant. Pregnant women have to pee…a lot."

"I have a feeling you're going to make my life very interesting," he teased her.

"You have idea," she playfully retorted back as he picked her up and moved to carry her to the bathroom.

Never had the good doctor been so thankful for the early winter nights that shrouded Colorado in near darkness after 5:00 p.m. on a January evening. It helped hide the brilliant scarlet flush burning his ears. After all, who knows how many accurate assumptions she would make about him if she saw his blushing, and that would make their living situation even more awkward than it already was…if that was even possible. And doctors were supposed to be intelligent. For a man with a PHD, he had definitely walked right into a potentially dangerous situation with both eyes closed. Why, then, did his life spinning out of control feel so damn exhilarating?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I know you can't tell because I'm already as inflated as a hot air balloon," Marissa stated with a content sigh as she nestled back into the layers of warm blankets piled high atop her, "but I am so full right now I think I could burst. Those quesadillas were out of this world. I had no idea you were that close to Denver that you could order in take out. I must have driven further yesterday than I thought, but, no matter what, you have to tell me where you ordered dinner from so I can stop by the restaurant and eat there again before I leave the area."

Before he realized what he was doing, Ryan was quickly calculating various ways of keeping her there and not letting her leave while still maintaining their conversation which had been flowing between them quite smoothly while they ate. "First of all, we're not that close to Denver, and, secondly, I would tell you where I ordered the food from if I could," he responded, "but, as the old saying goes…"

"Why can't you?"

"Dinner wasn't from a restaurant; I made it."

"You didn't cook that," the mother-to-be argued. "Nice try, but no man could be that perfect."

This piqued the doctor's curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at you. You're a successful, caring, intelligent, attractive man, and, now you're claiming that you can cook, too. I wasn't born yesterday, you know," Marissa laughed, shaking her head in amusement, "so you're not going to be able to pull the wool over my eyes."

"I'm not trying to trick you. In fact," he stood up to leave the room, "if you wait here for a moment, I'll bring you back the dirty dishes to prove to you that I did make the food. Unfortunately, my flaw as a chef is that I don't have the ability to clean my mess up as I go along, but I can assure you that there is a very real, very dirty mess waiting for me out on my kitchen counter. If you were feeling better, I'd let you wash the dishes…as a compliment to the chef, of course."

"Oh my god, you're serious."

"As a heart attack."

"That's a very overused expression, but I will forgive you on one condition," Marissa bargained.

He couldn't help it – he smirked at her endearing charm as he sat back down. "And what's that?"

"Would you let me request anything that I want for breakfast?"

Ryan gazed at the woman sitting across from him in his bed, tilting his head to study her more closely. She, in a playful way, had bunched up her shoulders and stiffened her form as she waited for his response as if on tenterhooks, and he knew then that he would never really be able to deny her anything. "As long as the request is reasonable," he finally responded. "I keep my pantry well stocked, and I could always run out to the store early if you wanted something I didn't have, but I also know that pregnant women can sometimes have strange cravings, cravings that might be impossible to find in our local, small grocery."

"I'll be gentle," she promised.

"Okay, so while you think about what you want for breakfast, why don't we talk a little bit," the doctor suggested. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "You said something about not going back home, but do you have any particular place in mind for where you want to settle down eventually?"

Marissa blinked several times rapidly as if absorbing the question. "I really haven't thought much about it," she confessed, dropping her bottomless blue eyes to the top duvet and distractedly playing with a loose thread. "My only concern has been to get somewhere far enough away and so small and obscure that no one would recognize me and contact my husband."

"What about supporting yourself and your baby," he pressed her, needing more information. "You at least must have some kind of plan for your life, don't you?"

"No, nothing," the mother-to-be admitted. Her voice was small, almost too quiet to hear, and he could tell that his questions were making her feel uncomfortable. "I met my husband my freshman year of college when he was a senior. We were engaged by the time he graduated and married before my sophomore year began. I dropped out of school, became the perfect society wife, and then had my children. To be blunt, I have no marketable skills, no job prospects, and, so, no plan."

"Well, you're smart," Ryan pointed out, trying to give her hope, "and I'm sure you picked up on a few things about business from your husband over the years. When you're ready to figure things out, I'm sure you'll be fine."

"At least one of us has some confidence in my abilities," she joked with little humor in her tone. "However, until the baby's born and I've physically recovered from giving birth, I'm not going to stress myself out by worrying about my future."

"You're right, you shouldn't, because it's not good for you or the baby."

"Especially considering the fact that I'm thirty-eight and having my fourth child," Marissa added. "I've had the appropriate tests and, everything appears to be fine with the baby, but nothing's guaranteed."

"Your son or daughter is going to be perfectly healthy," the doctor reassured her. "After everything you've been through, all the struggles and pain, it's the least you deserve."

"It's all I want."

"Let's focus on the baby then," Ryan recommended. "You haven't referred to the baby as a girl or a boy yet. Did you find out the sex?"

"Didn't want to," she shrugged. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but I think I already know what I'm having."

"And…," he prompted.

"As you know, I have three daughters already, so I know what carrying a girl feels like, and this baby feels the exact same way. So, as long as I know my body as well as I think I do," Marissa reasoned, "then it looks as if this baby is going to be daughter number four."

"Do you have any names picked out so far?"

"Oh, there are so many names I like. With all my other pregnancies, I would come up with names for both a boy and a girl that I liked months before I was due, but then, when the baby would arrive, my husband would insist upon naming the kids. The first time I was so exhausted and high on the pain medication I had been given, I would have agreed with anything he had suggested. At that point, I thought every name was beautiful. I was in love with my little girl, thought she was perfect, and loved my husband for giving her to me. I fell asleep that morning with a smile on my face and woke up that night to find out my first born daughter had been named Chace James Carter II after her father and cried for the next two days."

He chuckled. "So that explains the CJ. Not to be rude," Ryan held up his in a placating manner, hesitant to insult her, "but what happened with your other two daughters' names. No offense, but they're just as bad."

"I know," Marissa laughed, agreeing with him. "All three girls' names are horrible. I hate them." Taking a steadying breath to quell her mirth, she continued. "With Eli, it was right after my husband's father died, and he wanted to honor his dad whose name was Elias, so, against my better judgment and taste, I allowed our second daughter to be named after her grandfather, and, with a first name like that, I gave up and didn't press for a feminine middle name. It wasn't as if Chace would have allowed her to be referred to by it anyway."

"What is her middle name?"

"Elias Evan," the mother-to-be answered, shuddering in disapproval. "Even if we would have gone with her initials, it still would have been masculine, because people would have assumed we named her after the poet E.E. Cummings."

"And what about Quinn," Ryan inquired. "No, wait," he stopped her from explaining. "Let me guess." They sat in comfortable silence while he pondered the unusual name. "Okay, was it maybe your mother-in-law's maiden name, and, since your husband honored his father by naming your middle child after his dad, he insisted upon doing the same thing for his mom with your youngest?"

"Not even close," she revealed. "In fact, that I might have been able to live with, because, if that would have been the case, at least there was a reason behind it, but, unfortunately, Quinn's name was quite random." She paused momentarily to take a drink from the bottle of water he had set up for her on the bedside table. Once it was back in its place, lid tightly on, Marissa continued. "I had to have an emergency cesarean with Quinn, and they ended up sedating me. Why they did that, I'm still not sure, because Chace's explanation was slightly fuzzy. Just in case something like that happened though, I had a list of names ready for him; in fact, they were packed in my hospital bag, but, when I woke up, my youngest daughter was named Tarquinn Theodore Carter, because one of the orderlies had dared my husband while he was filling out the paperwork for her birth certificate. It's amazing that he was even capable of impregnating me a fourth time, because, let me tell you, when I saw my daughter's name on her incubator, I wanted to give him a vasectomy myself."

"See, in the long run," the doctor teased her, "your self-restraint paid off, and, now, you have another chance to name a baby. I imagine the name is going to be super feminine though."

After yawning, she replied, "as frilly as I can make it."

Noticing that she was tired again, her concussion making her sleepy, Ryan stood up and made his way towards the door of the bedroom. "I'll let you get some sleep," he told her softly, shutting off the lights before opening the door, "and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you…for dinner and for taking care of me."

"It's been my pleasure," he reassured her, 100 sincere. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped and turned back around to look at her. "I know you said you have six weeks left, but what is your exact due date?"

"February 14th – isn't that ironic, a baby conceived by two people who don't love each other having a child on what's supposed to be the most romantic day of the year?"

"Maybe it's a sign that something good, someone good who can love you and your child the way you both deserve is about to come into your life." As he closed the door behind him, he whispered, "good night, Marissa," unaware that they were both suddenly wondering the same thing. Could that someone good be him?

/ \ \ /

_Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matter_, Marissa chanted to herself as she lay awake in bed later that night. Setting aside the mantra for a few seconds, she glanced to her right and saw that it was 2:14 in the morning, too late for Ryan to still be awake and too early for him to be up already either. She had to go to the bathroom again – she had told him that pregnant women had little to no control over their bladders – but was determined to forget her body's urge. Because of her concussion, she knew that a trek to the bathroom would be interesting to say the least, and she didn't want to wake up her kind host, especially not after he had already done so many things for her with absolutely no hope or expectation of anything in return. In her mind, he did not deserve getting woke up in the middle of the night just because she had to pee.

However, forgetting the fact that she had a baby practically sitting on her kidneys was easier said than done, and she was quickly losing her game of will over her own body. Sighing, she threw off the covers, grumbled under her breath, and recoiled as soon as her warm, bare feet touched the cool hardwood floors of the bedroom. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Ryan had almost been prepared for any situation, he did not have a pair of slippers for her to wear, and she, in her haste to leave, had forgotten to pack them. As she stood up, she reached out for the wall, holding on to the steadying support the entire time she inched her way out of the bedroom which opened up into a short hallway.

Her progression to her porcelain salvation was slow, the pregnancy and the concussion hindering her, but, although her body took so long to move, her eyes, which were still working just as well as they always had, were able to observe her surroundings. To her right through an open doorway, she could see Ryan's office. The room was small, but it was cozy, neat, and purely masculine with its dark, rich colors, leather furniture, and uncluttered decor. Up ahead, she could peer into the main living area of the house which was a great room that opened up into the kitchen, and, just before she reached the bathroom which was to her left, she noticed that the doctor was sound asleep on his couch, the lamp beside him still on while a book rested forgotten on his chest. Apparently, he had fallen asleep while reading.

Moving as swiftly as she could, Marissa went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and managed to inspect her appearance in the mirror (frighteningly pale, scarily without makeup, and horrifyingly pregnant in the slightly tight fitting pajamas Ryan had found for her in one of her suitcases) before proceeding into the great room. With a soft, indulgent, tender smile on her face, she started to take care of the man who had so kindly saved her and her unborn child's life. First, she found a slip of paper to mark his page in his book, setting it aside on the coffee table so he would see it as soon as he woke up the next morning, then she pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and covered the doctor up, and, finally, she reached out to turn the light off only to find him staring up at her.

"I…I'm sorry," she hastily apologized, blushing and nervously tucking an errant lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. "I thought you were sleeping. I was just trying…"

"To help, I know and thank you. I appreciate it," Ryan assured her, sitting up and helping her to sit down beside him. "What are you doing up though? Is everything alright; is the baby okay?"

"The baby's wonderful." As soon as she said the words, she could visibly see him relax. "As for me, I'm still a little sore and my bladder has decided to test your toilet to make sure it can withstand the toughest of abuse, but, other than that, I'm fine, too." Cringing lightly to show her regret, she asked, "did I wake you?"

"Yeah," he admitted, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "but it's no problem. I'm a light sleeper, so I'm usually up a few times a night anyway. Do you need help getting back to bed?"

"Oh, I'll be fine," the mother-to-be attempted to put him at ease. "I'll just take it slow and hold on to the wall. Don't worry about me. You should just head off to bed."

"But I'm already there."

"What," she questioned, confused. "Why do you sleep on your couch?"

"Normally, I don't," Ryan confessed, "but, with you in my room…"

"Oh, why didn't you say anything beforehand," she moved to stand up, annoyed with herself, but he wouldn't let her. "I kicked you out of your room. You should have made me sleep on the couch. If I had known you only had one bedroom…"

"I wouldn't have listened to you anyway, and there's no way you're sleeping on this couch. First of all," the doctor pointed out, "you were just in a car accident."

"I ditched my car," Marissa argued. "There's a big difference."

"It was still traumatic, especially since you got a concussion from it. You're also my guest, and you're pregnant, too, so I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again if I made you sleep on an old, lumpy sofa only its owner can find comfortable. You're going back to my bed, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"For tonight," she agreed, "because I can't get a hotel room at 2:30 in the morning, but, first thing tomorrow, with your help, I'm going to go into town and find myself a hotel room, so I can get out of your hair."

"I'd actually like it if you stayed here…at least for now or until you figure out what your next step is."

"That could take a while," the mother-to-be rolled her eyes and laughed self-deprecatingly. "Remember, it took me nineteen years to realize I didn't love my husband and to…well, sort of…leave him."

"I enjoy your company," Ryan admitted without any hesitation. "It gets pretty lonely living out here by myself, even with my clients. You bring life into my home, and, even if we didn't get along well, I'd still worry about you out there on your own, so, if the only reason you want to leave is because you feel bad for making me sleep on the couch, don't, because I'd feel worse and wouldn't be able to sleep at all if I knew you were all alone in some hotel room without someone to talk to and watch out for you."

"I…you…," she stumbled over words, suddenly unsure of what to say or how to deal with the overwhelming emotions his words inspired within her, "you really mean that, don't you; you want me to stay?"

"For as long as you like."

For the second time in approximately the same amount of minutes, Marissa felt herself blush. The knowledge that Ryan both enjoyed her company and wanted her around sent an unfamiliar thrill throughout her body, especially when she admitted to herself that she felt the same way about him. "Okay. If you insist, I'll stay…for now."

The next thing he did surprised her as well. He stood up, stretched out his strong form, and then held out a hand for her. "What do you say to the idea of having a snack? I know we had a big dinner, but I suddenly feel hungry."

"Oh, a snack sounds amazing," Marissa approved of his idea empathically, even going to far as to clap her hands together. "Can we have carrots and peanut butter?"

"Together?"

"Of course," she said quickly, not realizing how strange her request was. "And jigglers – we should make jigglers, grape ones."

Chuckling, Ryan helped her into the kitchen. "I'll tell you what, as long as you don't make me taste it, you can have anything you want."

She made him laugh again when she stuck her hand out to be shaken. "Deal! But," she paused momentarily, warning him, "no matter what, I still get to pick out what we have for breakfast."

/ \ \ /

"Has anyone ever told you before that you're such a girl?"

As he helped her get situated into the exam chair, Ryan had to hide a smile at Marissa's teasing. She had been taunting him all day since he first mentioned the idea of going to the doctors.

"I mean, talk about being a nervous Nellie. I told you the baby and I were fine, but, noooo, you had to make sure." She scoffed before continuing. "You even went and called in a favor with a friend to make sure that this visit wasn't documented on any medical paperwork. I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but you wouldn't of had to go through all the trouble if you would have just listened…"

"Do you remember how I told you I would worry about you unless you would stay with me," the doctor interrupted her. "Well, this is almost the same thing. If we wouldn't have come here today, I would have worried I'd missed something right up until the point you gave birth to a healthy baby girl."

He knew he was insinuating that she would still be with him six weeks down the line, but he couldn't help it, and he was relieved to see that she either didn't realize the significance of his statement or wasn't bothered by it. For some reason that was beyond his comprehension, the mother-to-be had crashed into his life, sent it spinning out of control, and had so quickly made herself a part of him that he couldn't imagine her not being around in one capacity or another. Whether she was his roommate, his neighbor, his friend, his acquaintance, or maybe, someday, even something more, it didn't matter, for Ryan not only wanted her in his life, but he also needed her in it someway, somehow.

Snapping him out of his revelry, he heard her whisper, "I know," acknowledging his statement, "and I'm sorry for being so annoying. I just…I'm nervous."

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he reassured her. "I've known Russell since we were in med school together. He's one of my closest friends, and he won't say anything about this to anyone. You can trust him."

"Well, I trust you," Marissa confessed with a sweet smile, tilting her head to the side as she studied him thoughtfully, "so, if you have faith in this guy, then so do I."

"That's something every doctor wants to hear," a third voice joined them as the OB-GYN entered the room. He was taller, wider, and louder than his fellow medical professional. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Cooper," he greeted her, holding out his hand in greeting. "Any friend of Ryan's is a friend of mine."

"In that case," she smiled up at the slightly graying man, "please, call me Marissa."

He nodded in agreement. "So I hear you were in a car accident recently?"

"I ditched my car two nights ago because I wasn't used to the snowy road conditions," the mother-to-be corrected him, turning slightly to playfully glare at Ryan for his penchant to exaggere. "As I told our friend here, everything is fine with both me and the baby, but he worries more than a church prayer group full of yarn knitting grandmas."

"Ah, so Atwood's slightly protective of you and the baby, is he," Dr. Baker observed, winking at his patient. "I know what that means."

"Don't you need to get home at a decent time tonight, Russell," Ryan asked pointedly. "We don't need your wife becoming suspicious, and I certainly don't need her mad at me for making her husband late for supper."

"She's at a PTO meeting tonight, so we have hours."

He nearly changed his mind and yelled out that the sonogram was unnecessary when he heard Marissa return them to OB-GYN's original topic. "So, what does his protective behavior mean?"

"It means he cares about you…a lot," Russell told her. "It means that you're more than just his patient; you're his friend now, too."

The general practitioner sighed in relief. "I am her friend, a friend who has dinner cooking as we speak, so, if you could get started…"

"Simmer down, Atwood. This is only going to take a moment or two once we begin. Why don't you take a seat beside Marissa, while I get us all set up.

Two minutes later, the mother-to-be's shirt was pulled up to expose her swollen abdomen, the gel had been applied to her belly, and the sonogram machine had been turned on, and, before Ryan knew what was happening, he was holding Marissa's hand, staring at the screen, listening to the baby's heartbeat, and finding himself immediately drawn into the tiny life he was seeing for the first time. He had already started to care for the unborn child, but the sonogram made it completely real, made her real, because, as soon as he saw the baby moving around on the screen, he knew, just as Marissa knew, that she was having a little girl. Nothing had prepared him for that moment, and, as he silently helped her off the exam chair, ignoring the knowing smirk on his friend's face, he knew that it was a moment he would never forget even if he wanted to…which he never would. For better or for worse and whether or not they liked it or even wanted his presence in their life, he was connected to both mother and child from that point on until the day he died. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to keep them in his life without scaring them off for good.

/ \ \ /

They were on their way back to his home, both sitting in silence, when Marissa spoke up, interrupting the tranquility of the slow moving car and making his heart temporarily stop. "So, I've made a decision."

It was just like all the moments he had heard about over the years from other people, and he finally understood what they meant when they said they had wanted to hear the next words out of someone's mouth more than they wanted to take their next breath but, yet, at the same time, they were too afraid that the next words would permanently shatter their every hope and dream and that they had never wanted the other person to speak, for, if they didn't say it, it could never happen. "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you remember how we were talking about my future last night," the mother-to-be prompted him, "how you were asking me about where I wanted to settle down to raise my child, what I wanted to do?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, I still don't know how I'm going to support us, but I know where we'll be living."

Ryan spoke softly, tentatively, cautiously. "And this special place is…"

"Here," she announced, finally allowing him to take the first deep breath he had experienced since what felt like the moment he had first laid eyes on her unconscious form in her wrecked car. "The way I see things, this place is as good as any other. Besides," Marissa continued, meeting his gaze for just a moment before alternately going back to watching the scenery pass by and fiddling nervously with her hands, "I have a friend in this town. I can't say that about anywhere else."

"A friend," the doctor repeated, effectively entering himself, he felt, in 'the stupidest things to say during an emotional moment' award category.

"Yeah," she reiterated, grinning happily to herself while caressing her belly, unaware that Ryan was watching her so intently despite the fact that he was driving on roads that were still rather dangerous, "I have you here." Without looking at him, she joined her left hand with his free, right one, squeezing it tightly in a gesture of companionship and faith.

He had gotten what he wanted without having to do anything but be himself as he cared for her. For once in his life, Ryan felt as if _he_ had truly been enough to make someone stay, and it was easily the best feeling in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Just to let you know, there is only one chapter left of this ficlet. Once it's finished, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I might just focus on Still Love's Fool. Time will tell. However, I can share with you that I have several one shots planned, so look for those to pop up soon. Thanks everyone!_

Charlynn

Chapter Four

"Well, Mrs. Carter, I have good news and I have bad news," D. Patrick Wilson announced astutely from across a very wide and very ornate cherry desk. He was a frail looking man, hunchbacked and grayed, but there was a sharpness to his eyes which conveyed his intelligence and a firmness to his mouth which reassured Marissa that, despite being the town's only lawyer, he was fully competent and a man she could trust her case with. If nothing else, the fact that Ryan spoke so highly of the older man and promised her that the attorney would be honorable and the utmost of a professional made her feel confident in his abilities. Not only did she trust Ryan with her own life, but she also trusted him with the life of her unborn child, so, if he had that much faith in the lawyer, then she did, too. "Which would you like to hear first," Mr. Wilson asked of her.

"First of all, please, call me Marissa. I never want to be referred to again as Mrs. Carter."

The aged man leaned across his desk and locked his gaze with hers, a conspiratorial twinkle in his grey eyes. "So then I take it that you would prefer the title of Ms. or perhaps even ex-Mrs.?"

Becoming tense and agitated with anticipation and hope, the mother-to-be unconsciously reached her right hand out and linked her fingers with those of Ryan's left hand, squeezing his digits in a silent form of communication. "What exactly are you saying, sir?"

"I'm trying to tell you that you're going to be a divorcee in a few months." At the sound of the attorney's words, a bright, warm smile erupted on her face. "I take it that you're pleased with this information."

"Well, it is the good news you had to tell me about, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," the older man confessed. Leaning back in his chair once again, he laced his hands together in front of him, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak. "The good news is that your husband filed the papers, citing abandonment as his cause for separation."

Entering the conversation for the first time, the good doctor asked, "and how is this a good thing for Marissa?"

"Actually, this is beneficial to us for several reasons. Number one and most important, it buys us some more time," the lawyer reasoned. "The goal is for Mr. Carter to not learn of his wife's whereabouts. If he's already filed the divorce papers, then we don't have to. Secondly, it has only been a few weeks since she left. If he's already contacted his legal staff and had them draw up these papers, it's obvious that he's not going to fight for this marriage and chances are he's not even looking for her. Finally, because of his haste to file the papers, it would be my guess that there's another reason besides wanting a clean and easy break from his current wife. Perhaps there's someone in the wings that he'd life to make the second Mrs. Chace Carter."

Chuckling to herself, Marissa looked between both men before saying one word – a name. "Nadia."

"Who's Nadia," Ryan and Mr. Wilson asked at the same time.

"She's a young, Russian model with acting aspirations that Chace not only represents but dates."

"Are you telling me that he had a girlfriend while you were married, that he flaunted this woman in front of you?"

"Sir," the pregnant blonde addressed the older man across from her, answering his question, "it was common knowledge that Chace cheated on me and did it often. Hell, he and his mistresses would have dinner with my children, go on vacations with them, practically live together in the penthouses he set up for them in LA. To be frank, by the time I realized what he was up to, I didn't care anymore, and it was a relief to have him away from me."

"That may be true, but it should also help our case when we go to Court," the lawyer told her assertively. "It might be the twenty-first century, but the courts still do not look favorably upon infidelity in a marriage, especially when there are children involved."

That made her laugh for a second time. "Not to be rude, but my children were practically just as culpable as my husband was. They encouraged his infidelity, supported it, and, yes, he was the one who made cheating okay for them, but he didn't tell them what to think or how to react; they accepted his actions, embraced them, and helped to perpetuate them. If even once they would have objected to his behavior, Chace would have at least become more discreet if not stopped all together, but they never even voiced a single qualm." Taking a deep breath, she pushed on. "It wouldn't surprise me if they weren't the ones behind this speedy divorce, too. Nothing would please my daughters more than to get me out of their and their father's lives permanently. We were not your typical, happy American family that suddenly fell apart; we were always this twisted and indifferent."

"I guess that brings me to my bad news," Mr. Wilson attempted to get their conversation back on track. "By Mr. Carter filing for divorce stating abandonment as the reasoning, it leaves us little bargaining power."

"Bargaining power?"

"During the trial," the older man explained. "Not only will it now be harder to get you a generous settlement, but we also have the custody issue to worry about. From the way you speak about your children, I take it you do not wish to seek custody?"

"If I thought they'd stay with me or that I would have a chance to help them become better women, I would love to have them with me, but divorce wouldn't change anything, sir. They'd still hate me," Marissa said quietly, becoming somber, "they'd still disrespect me, and they'd still ridicule me. I have to accept the fact that my girls, at this point, are lost causes and move on…for both my own good and that of my unborn child's."

"And speaking of which, what sort of custody arrangement are you looking for with the baby?"

"There won't be a custody arrangement," she announced stubbornly, "because you're going to help me figure out a way to keep my child, to make sure that Chace does not find about my pregnancy."

"Wait," the attorney stopped her, sitting up in his chair and staring. "Are you telling me that you lived with this man up until the point where you were seven and half months pregnant, and he never realized it?" When Marissa shook her head yes, he chuckled. "Well, all be damned. No wonder you don't want this man anywhere near your child. However, how do you propose that we accomplish this goal of yours?"

"I'm not going to contest the divorce; I'm not going to ask for a settlement. In fact, I don't even want you to contact Chace's lawyers. Eventually, the paperwork will go through with or without my involvement, and, when it does, I'll be free of my husband, and, trust me, he won't come looking for me."

"Until he realizes that you had another child," the elderly man pointed out not unkindly. "Marissa, you're going to have to file a birth certificate for your baby, and, once you do, a paper trail will be started. What will you do then, and, perhaps more importantly, what name are you going to put down as your baby's legal father?"

"Let's take this one issue at a time," Ryan suggested, entering the conversation for the second time. "If she's right about her husband and he wants this divorce as quickly and as pain free as possible, then wouldn't it benefit his case if she wasn't found? From everything that Marissa has told me about her husband, he's not going to go to any trouble to find her. Someone would have to be actively looking for her in order to notice the birth certificate, and I don't see that happening."

"Plus, Chace already has his heirs. A newborn child would interfere with his playboy lifestyle, and, if I'm right and I'm having another girl, a fourth daughter wouldn't benefit him at all." Relaxing into her chair, the mother-to-be continued. "He already has a namesake in our oldest child, and, with another girl, he doesn't get the chance to have a male successor to the Carter fortune."

"This is just speculation though," Mr. Wilson pointed out. "You both might be wrong, and, if you are, in all likelihood, we'll have a custody battle on our hands. Unless…"

"Unless what," the doctor asked him, his eyes narrowing in concentration and thought.

"Listen, as your lawyer, I advise you to do what's legal and what's right at all times. It means that as a member of the court, I don't have to report any illegal activity, that my position with the bar is secure, and that you are not risking your own reputation and freedom. However, as a fellow parent, Marissa, and as Ryan's friend, I would suggest that you possibly consider putting someone else's name besides your husband on the birth certificate. After all, there is more to being a father than DNA, and, if Mr. Carter is not going to be the parent on a daily basis, who is to say that he should be the parent on record?"

His words of advice hung heavily in the air. As Ryan and Marissa turned to look at each other, neither saying a word of what they were thinking, they both realized that they didn't need to say anything, because, with their eyes alone, matching crystal clear, cobalt eyes, they were able to communicate what they were thinking. _Could they…? Would it work? Who…? How would it…? What if…?_

"I know it's a lot to think about," Mr. Wilson interrupted their silent thoughts, their silent questions, "but time is running out, and you'll have to make the decision soon." As the three of them stood up to say goodbye, he shook both of their hands while continuing to talk. "We'll keep an eye on this pending divorce, but, as of now, we won't actively do anything about it. So, right now, it's essentially a waiting game."

"That's practically my whole life at this point," Marissa remarked with a light laugh as she protectively, lovingly, eagerly caressed her eight months pregnant belly.

The lawyer smiled gently, appreciating the sight of the proud mother-to-be in front of him, the image making him imagine what it would be like to have a child of his own pregnant and expecting a baby, his grandchild. "As for the second matter we discussed just now," he glanced between the younger adults, "You could, and I think it would work. However, it's not my decision to make. Let me say this though: do not make this more complicated than it has to be. We're talking about the safety and happiness of a child, nothing more. It's easy to love a child, to put them first," he confided, letting his gaze rest solely on Ryan. "Do this, worry about the baby first, and everything else will fall into place…eventually."

The doctor nodded to show that he understood the meaning behind the wise attorney's words, and, as he turned towards Marissa to help her out of the office and to the car, he noticed she was blushing. Apparently, the older man's words had been a little too candid. She was embarrassed, and all he could do was hope that it wouldn't scare her away, especially since she was pushing rather forcefully the idea of apartment hunting. Wanting to be settled into her own place before the baby was born, she had pressed the issue until he finally agreed to help her look. With no more medical excuses to keep her near, Ryan had been forced to concede, and he was afraid the surrender would cost him more than he even wanted to consider. Before things got out of control, it was time he put his PHD to good use. Surely, there was something he had learned during eight years of school that could help him. If nothing else, it had taught him to be tenacious, and he had a feeling he was going to need that skill to get what he wanted: more of what he already currently had.

/ \ \ /

One week. It had taken Marissa seven days after their visit to the lawyer's office to convince Ryan that she should start looking for an apartment. He had stalled, claimed his schedule was too busy, used the weather – though nothing worse than a flurry appeared in the sky during what was supposed to be a massive snow storm - as an excuse, and sidetracked her with baby shopping, but, when he ran out of excuses, she was there with the classifieds, a smile, and big, blue eyes he could not say no to any longer.

They had visited five properties that afternoon, but with every one the doctor had found some reason why she should not sign on the dotted line. So, after a wasted day and more suppressed frustration than she had experienced since leaving Southern California, Marissa and Ryan were returning to his cabin in the woods with no future apartment in sight, no lease to contemplate. The car was silent. However, while her quietness was due to aggravation, his appeared to be borne out of a need to think and work his way through a complicated issue. What it was though, the mother-to-be had no idea.

The first place they had looked at was, in her opinion, idyllic. Instead of an apartment, it was a small cottage off a private lane. Though the flowers were dormant for the winter, the realtor had assured her that once spring struck the small, Colorado town, the entire yard would be awash with bright hues and sensual scents. The past owners had been avid gardeners, and, though Marissa was not quite as skilled in that area of homecare, she knew that with the help of the internet and a few highly rated books, she would be able to learn and eventually become proficient - hopefully before she killed all the flowers. Not only did she want the home for herself, but she could picture her future child running around in the yard, picking her dahlias, tulips, irises, azaleas, poppies, zinnias, and marigolds among dozens of other varieties of blooms, and taking the time to teach her son or daughter how to grow the various plants. Could there be a better place to raise a baby?

According to Ryan, yes, there could be. The house was set too far away from the main road; the snow plow, mailman, and delivery trucks would have a hard time reaching it during bad weather. With no neighbors within a mile's radius, who would come to her and her child's aid if something was wrong? Some of the flowers were poisonous if ingested, not to mention the fact that the rock garden would attract various species of snakes, some even deadly. The cottage itself was too old, would require too much upkeep, and was that a mouse he saw running into the pantry? After listening to his litany of complaints against the potential property, Marissa had sighed, smiled politely at the realtor, and asked to see the next one. As they pulled out of the driveway, she said goodbye to the visions of her life she had conjured up at the little house and glared at her new friend who was happily whistling beside her.

The second property had been in a traditional apartment building. There was a lobby, elevators, and tens of neighbors there to reassure Ryan that if she or the baby ever needed assistance, they'd never be alone. The apartment itself was a two bedroom, one bathroom, turn of the century former warehouse converted into living space. She liked the high ceilings with their exposed plumbing and electric, loved the fact that there was a balcony overlooking the town off her living room, and adored the fact that she could access the second bedroom through her own for it would make taking care of the baby that much easier. Her fingers had been fairly itching to sign the lease, and she knew that Ryan wouldn't object to anything about the apartment. After all, it had everything the first place didn't, so what would he be able to find wrong with it?

The answer: plenty. He was worried about the hard wood floors. Surely, those would get too cold in the winter with a baby, and think about when the child would start to walk. He or she would fall constantly, injuring themselves and, in the worse case scenario, do serious damage. Plus, the bathroom only had a shower; there was no tub, so, not only would that hurt Marissa on the retail value of the apartment, but it would also make bathing the baby that much more difficult. The balcony, he claimed, was a toddler's very own suicide machine, the high ceilings would make heating a nightmare, and the building didn't come with a parking garage. Nope, according to her new friend, the second property was a disaster, and they had to move on and see the third.

After seeing the third apartment, Marissa could have kissed the hard to please man standing beside her. Because he was so picky, they had turned down the first two options and found what she deemed the perfect home for her and her unborn child. It was the third floor apartment of a historic brownstone located in the heart of the little town. The owners of the building rarely were home because they traveled, so she would practically have free reign of not only the garage but the backyard, too, which already came equipped with a sand box, swing, and swimming pool. The apartment itself was three bedrooms which she loved because it would allow for a playroom/office, there were two bathrooms, so, when her child became older, they wouldn't have to share, and the detailing and design of the place was impeccable. If there was an _Apartment and Garden_ magazine, she and her apartment would be able to grace the cover; the property was simply that beautiful. Ryan, however, had very different ideas.

It was just poor parenting, he claimed, to have a baby and a pool within a hundred yards of each other. Even though she didn't say it out loud, Marissa found it interesting that a bachelor felt inclined to offer parenting advice, funny even in an _I'm laughing on the inside_ way. He also disliked the fact that she would have to walk up three flights of stairs to reach her apartment, that she would be in the middle of _the __city_ where hoodlums and partiers could disturb her and the baby during the night (yes, like their little town with its one stop light was that much of an attraction for those seeking the nightlife), and that he was so far away from her. What would they do if the baby was sick in the dead of winter? It could take him an hour or longer to reach them if there was a snow storm. Absolutely not, the doctor had decreed; they couldn't rent that apartment.

On the drive between the third and fourth properties, Marissa started to wonder when the search for a place to live became theirs and not just hers, but she refrained from asking, not wanting to get Ryan started, once again, on the value of having a second opinion when searching for a home. Instead, she simply allowed him to pass judgment on the fourth residence – a duplex on the outskirts of town – and didn't even offer her own opinion.

The rent was too high, the neighbors seemed oddly suspicious (_who left their Christmas decorations up into late January?_), and hadn't he just read about a wild dog attack that had occurred on that street? The house itself was tight; the rooms were too small and claustrophobic, no place to raise a child. It was set far too close to the road, practically inviting reckless drivers to drive through the living room window, there was no garage, and there was a fireplace, which, according to her new friend, was not only a fire hazard but a nightmare to clean. No, he had announced to the realtor, sounding almost cheerful while doing so, they would not be taking option number four.

By the time they had pulled up to the fifth and last home on their list, a cabin very similar to Ryan's, Marissa was sure they had finally found a place the doctor would not be able to object to. After all, it was less than a mile from his own place, and, because it was so similar to the cabin she was already staying in with him, he wouldn't…couldn't find anything wrong with the home. Wrong.

Before they even got out of the car, he signaled to the realtor that they would not taking the place, calling her on his cell phone to share that there were rumors that the home was haunted, so he could not, in good faith, recommend and allow his friend and her unborn baby to move into a place that might scare them. No, he had gleefully stated, they would just have to remain living with him for the foreseeable future.

After thanking the exasperated woman for her time, they had left the cabin's driveway, but, instead of heading towards home, Ryan had driven them back towards town to pick up dinner. Knowing they were both tired and wouldn't want to cook, he called ahead and ordered Japanese, satisfying the craving Marissa had been having all day. How he had known she wanted Japanese, she had no idea, but he had. However, she was still not speaking to him.

It took thirty minutes of silence and brooding for her to open her mouth to say something to her friend. With arms crossed against her chest and a petulant snarl on her plump lips, she glowered at the passing scenery before talking. "Now what?"

"I was thinking we could watch a movie while we ate," Ryan answered, flashing her a wide and warm smile. "I'll even let you pick as long as you promise you won't choose something that will make you cry. And, oh," he added suddenly before she could respond, "what about a foot rub? I bet your feet are killing you after the day we just had."

"My feet are fine," she snapped. Not even the offer of a massage could entice her to forgive him that quickly. "I don't want to watch a damn movie; what I want to do is find an apartment."

"I know, and I'm sorry. You'll just have to wait a month or two until some more properties come on the market. Hopefully next time you'll find one you like."

That statement made her twist in her seat to look at him, something that wasn't a very easy task with the seatbelt cutting into her rather…large form. "Are you high on Armorall or something?" Ryan had a strange and unhealthy habit of obsessively cleaning his car. "I liked every single one of those places we looked at today. You were the one who had a problem with them."

"I'm just looking out for you," he explained. His voice was calm, serene, almost placating, and it made Marissa grind her teeth together to ward off some of her irritation. If she didn't do something, she might go off and just smack him…really hard.

"I realize that's what you're trying to do," the mother-to-be allowed, practically choking on the words, "but you're taking your self-appointed job a little too seriously. There was nothing wrong with those properties we looked at today, and now, because you turned down all five of them, I'm going to have to look in the next town which is at least thirty-five minutes away. I know, because I mapquested it last night."

"That's ridiculous. You can't go that far away. You don't know anyone there."

"I'll be fine," she argued stubbornly.

"Look, I don't see why you're in such a rush to find a place anyway. You're pregnant…very pregnant,"

"Are you trying to tell me something, Atwood," she interrupted him, rethinking her idea to restrain herself from injuring him, "because, if you are, let me warn you that, after years of classes at the gym, I have a mean right hook, and my fist is just itching to hit something right about now."

"What I'm saying is that you shouldn't be stressing yourself out over the idea of an apartment. Take your time, have your baby, adjust to motherhood again, and, when your life starts to settle down again, then start looking for a place to stay."

"You can't seriously want me to remain with you," she questioned him, quirking her left eyebrow. "I've taken over your whole place, not to mention your bed." As she rambled on, she missed the spark of awareness that flashed through Ryan's eyes. "There's a breast pump on your kitchen counter, your TIVO is filled with TLC's _A Baby Story_, and your bathroom permanently smells like my coconut bath wash. Why would you want me to stay with you?"

"First of all," he countered, "I'm a doctor. Do you honestly think that something as essential as a breast pump is going to embarrass me? Secondly, I've had to deliver a few babies, so watching them be born on TV really doesn't bother me. As for your bath wash, it smells better than my soap, so it's nice to walk into the bathroom and feel like I'm visiting some tropical island while on vacation. And, finally, I want you to stay with me because you're my friend, because I care about you and your baby, because I would constantly worry about the two of you if you were not with me, not because I doubt your ability to look after yourself and your child but because I want to help you, and because, before you crashed into my life, I was bored and lonely. Now, with you staying with me, my cabin has become a real home, and it hasn't felt that way since my mentor died."

Suddenly, her anger had been replaced with a sense of happiness and joy. Damn hormones. They were so fickle. "I don't think anyone has ever said such nice things to me before, but that still doesn't change one important thing: there's not enough room for all three of us and your practice to exist under one roof."

"That's where you're wrong," he corrected her. "There's a room at the end of the hallway that I use for storage. There's just a bunch of boxes in there filled with old medical journals, school books from when I was still in college, and supplies that could easily be moved into my office. We could, with little effort, turn that into a second bedroom."

"And the baby and I don't need that much space," Marissa filled in for him. "He or she will be in a bassinet for a few months anyway, we don't have many clothes or belongings, and I could easily sleep in a twin sized bed."

"What do you mean you could sleep in a twin sized bed? You'll be staying right where you currently are."

"I can't sleep in your bed," the mother-to-be laughed off his suggestion, dismissing the idea with a simple wave of her petite hand. "I've kept you on the couch for long enough already. As soon as the storage room is cleaned out, I'll be in there, and you're sleeping habits can go back to normal."

"Marissa," he started to argue with her, but she stopped him by interrupting.

"No, quit arguing with me; this is the only way I'll agree to stay with you."

"Fine. I'll move back into my own room after you've recuperated from giving birth, and, on that issue, I'm not budging. You'll remain in my room until you have medical clearance to leave it."

"Alright," she smiled up at him, pleased because partially she got her own way. "Now, I don't want you to worry. As soon as the baby and I have recovered enough, we'll be out of your hair, so you can have your place back, but we'll stay close," she reassured him. "Despite the fact that you can drive me crazy sometimes, I want you close to us, too. After all, what girl wouldn't want her own white knight living down the road from her?"

Too bad the white knight wanted his damsel in distress to live with him…permanently. Oh, and in the same bed, too.

\ / \

Groundhog's Day. Her daughter had been born on Groundhog's Day…_Groundhog'__s Day. _If nothing else, at least she'd never forget her little girl's birthday…even when she was old, decrepit, and senile, but it was still utterly unfeminine in her opinion. However, Marissa felt it was better than giving birth on Valentine's Day; that holiday would have just been cruel and unusual punishment.

What else was cruel was the fact that she had been totally unprepared to go into labor. In fact, she wasn't sure if her brain had yet to catch up with the rest of her body. In the back of her mind, she still felt pregnant, she still had questions to work her way through, and she still had no idea where to look for the answers to those questions.

Too bad she had been forced to come up with them anyway. While she and Ryan had been dining out that evening, she had lifted her glass of water to her lips to take a sip when she felt her water break. Ironic, right, perhaps even appropriately so. They had rushed to the hospital, called Doctor Baker, and managed to get into a private room a mere hour before her daughter had been born. With her first three pregnancies, she had been in labor for hours…hours that tended to feel more like days, and, since her first three daughters had turned out to be pains in the ass, Marissa hoped that the short labor suggested a different personality for her fourth child. However, the quick labor had left her spinning out of control.

She hadn't picked a final first name yet, let alone a second or a last. She didn't know what she wanted to put down as her own name on her daughter's birth certificate, and she still had no clue if she wanted to take her attorney's advice and name _someone _as her baby's father to avoid Chace's involvement. Needing to think and wanting to spend some alone time with her newborn infant, she had kicked everyone out of the room – the doctor, the nurses, even Ryan, and sat holding the seven pound, four ounce, blonde haired, blue eyed wonder in her arms, simply staring at her perfect, perfect daughter. Finally, she had a baby who looked like her, and the blonde was too fine, too light to fade into a darker color, and the blue of the little girl's eyes was too strong, too vibrant, too beautiful to ever change, and so Marissa knew her daughter would always resemble her.

The baby never cried while she held her, simply snuggled into her Mom's arms and alternated between sleeping and watching her in return, but, after an hour had passed, the new mother had paged the nurse's desk, alerting everyone waiting to see and speak to her to the fact that she was ready to talk. However, when Doctor Baker knocked on her door and poked his head in, she asked him to leave again but to send Ryan back. He did so without offering up a single argument.

"Is she still as perfect as before," Ryan asked as he walked in the room. His voice was soft and gentle, the volume just right so that she could hear it perfectly and, yet, it still wouldn't disturb the baby. He was smiling down at her and her newborn child, carrying flowers, and she could see that his hands were practically itching to hold the baby.

"I think she's even more so," Marissa confessed, unashamed of the immense level of love she felt for her daughter. "But, here," she said as she delicately lifted her arms to pass the little girl to her new friend, "see for yourself."

He didn't immediately melt into a large pile of emotional goo or dissolve into incoherent babbles as he tried to talk to the baby like most people did when holding a newborn. Instead, he simply gazed down at the infant he held so tenderly in his arms, locked his gaze with hers, and then placed a fatherly kiss upon her wrinkled, pink forehead. After several moments, he looked back at Marissa. "Did you come up with a name yet?"

"Yes, I did," she smiled up at him, motioned for the doctor to take a seat on the side of her bed so that the two of them would be closer to her, "and it's definitely girlie if I do say so myself," she commented with a light laugh. "I'd like you to meet Vivien Olivia Cooper." She paused momentarily for effect, watching his face as it reacted and silently shared his emotions with her. "Your daughter."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This is the last chapter of this fic, so I hope it ends how everyone wants it to. Enjoy!_

Charlynn

Chapter Five

She had decided not to breast feed. It wasn't because she didn't want to, and it wasn't because she wasn't aware of the facts. Despite breast feeding being better for both the mother and the child, Marissa had opted to bottle feed her daughter for one simple reason: it would be better for Ryan. If she breast fed, the man who she had named as her daughter's father would only get to experience the joy of feeding his child sporadically, and, because she knew there was a good chance Vivi would be his only kid, she didn't want to deprive him or their daughter of a single moment together. Not only did her sacrifice tell her how serious she was about wanting Ryan to be a part of her little girl's life, but it also told her that she felt more for the doctor than mere gratitude and friendship; it told her that she was falling for him. The question was: how did he feel about her?

Two days in the hospital had helped her come to many decisions, but the new mother was still unsure about how her…_roommate_…felt about her. However, she had just given birth, she and her daughter needed to adjust to life at home, and she had to get her life in order before she could worry about the complications feelings and romance could bring her. Eventually, in time, she and Ryan would work through their relationship and find an appropriate label for it, but, until that happened, she was content to take care of her little girl, to observe the man who had helped her so selflessly, and to make plans for her and her daughter's future.

As they pulled up to the cabin, Marissa let out a sigh of relief. Whether it was because of her age as the staff had said or because Ryan was overly paranoid when it came to her and Vivi's health, she had been forced to stay in the hospital an extra day to recuperate, and there was only so much personal introspection a girl could take before she started going slightly insane and took on the task of trying to name the truly unique color painted on the four, bare walls surrounding her that all hospital seemed to use. To say that she was relieved to be released and at home was a major understatement.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Ryan's gently spoken question snapped her out of her silent revelry.

"Of course," she answered easily. Carefully stepping out of the car, she watched as he lifted both a sleeping Vivien's car seat and the complimentary diaper bag out of the back before wondering out loud, "why do you ask?"

"You sighed, and, though I'm getting to know you more and more each day, I still don't know what your various sighs mean."

Marissa smiled, for some reason warmed by his statement. Joining him, she looped her left arm through his free one and allowed him to partially support her still weary body as they made their way from the car to the front porch. "It was a content sigh," she finally responded when they paused to unlock the door. "It's good to be home."

"It's nice to hear you refer to the cabin as your home. You know," the doctor confessed, "that's how I think of it now – as our home, yours, mine, and Vivien's." They stepped inside, and he led them back towards the room which had been designated as their daughter's. "I know you probably wanted to decorate Vivi's room yourself, but I didn't want you to have to worry about it when you came home, so I hired someone while we were still in the hospital to come in and do it for you." As they entered the room, the three of them seemingly a family now that the little girl who joined them together had been born, Marissa gasped in surprise, but Ryan, too concerned that she wouldn't like what he had done, kept talking, explaining his actions, and missed her audible response. "There's this local artist who is known for painting murals, and, between the two of us talking on the phone, this is what we came up with."

He gestured to the nursery as she let her eyes roam the small, comfortable space, taking in all the tiny details. In the far corner, a trunk took root from the green carpet, sprouting a wide, arching, mature tree that spread its branches across the two adjacent walls, flowering the ceiling with thousands of green leaves until it met the blue sky. Underneath the canapé of the tree, there stood the baby's basinet as if it was cocooned by nature and protected by the sturdy, dependable oak. On the two remaining walls, was a garden with blooming flowers, their shades ranging the wide spectrum of the rainbow, magical butterflies, and even a lazy, sleeping kitten resting its black and white face on its little paws as it relaxed under the bright rays of the sun and watched over the garden and all its inhabitants. There was even a changing table, a little dresser, and a rocking chair to complete the room, and Marissa wasn't sure if she had ever seen a more perfect nursery.

"I know how much you loved the little cottage with the garden that we looked at," Ryan explained, "you know, the one I talked you out of renting, so I described it to the artist, and she tried to recreate it for you."

"It's perfect," she stated breathlessly, too caught up in the surprise to focus on filling her lungs with much needed oxygen. "This is perhaps the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? Like it, Ryan?" She finally met his gaze, smiling brightly. "I love it and so will Vivi." Embracing him in a tight, emotional hug, she let her head rest on his shoulder as she tucked her face into his neck, discreetly inhaling his scent and savoring both it and their fleeting moment of closeness. "Thank you."

Once they separated, he held up his finger to stop her from saying anything else. While she waited, he unhooked their little girl from her carrier and placed her so tenderly in her bassinet that it brought tears to Marissa's eyes. She then watched him bend over, kiss their daughter, and whisper his love to the infant before standing up and rejoining her. Together, they left the nursery and moved back into the living room.

"I know you said that you wanted to move into the spare room with Vivien once you were healed, but I've been doing some reading lately, and everything says that it's better for mother and child to have their own individual spaces, their own individual retreats to sleep and relax."

"I know that, too, Ryan, but what about you? You can't sleep on a coach indefinitely…or until we move out."

"I knew you were going to say that, so look," he pointed towards where the old couch used to sit. In its place, she found a new one. "It's a sofa bed, top of the line, and the costumer reviews say it's just as comfortable as a real bed. So, I'll stay out here, Vivien will have her nursery, and we'll make my room yours."

"Shouldn't I take the sofa bed while you go back to your room?"

"Absolutely not," the doctor protested. "You're a new Mom and a woman. You need the privacy a bedroom can offer you. I'm just a guy. Privacy for us is having indoor plumbing. I'll be fine out here."

Needing to test his resolve, Marissa pressed, "are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright then, I won't waste our energy on arguing. We have a newborn to take care of; she's going to take all the energy we can muster and probably more." Sitting down on the new couch, she motioned for Ryan to join her. "Obviously, you've been busy these past two days, but I have to tell you that you're not the only one who's been making important decisions."

Although he grinned at her comment, the effort didn't reach his eyes, and the new mother was unsure if the gesture was sincere. However, she had no idea why the knowledge that she had come to some conclusions about her life would upset or disappoint her friend.

"I figured out what I want to do with my life…well, besides taking care of Vivien."

"Damn," Ryan cursed, surprising her, "and just when I was about to present you with a job offer."

"What?"

"You've seen my office, right?" She nodded her head yes in answer. "Well, I was thinking it was about time I hired a receptionist for my practice, someone who could organize all my paperwork, keep track of the billing for me, and make my life a whole hell of a lot easier, especially when it came to tax time."

"You don't have to pay me to help out around her," Marissa reassured him. "I'd be happy to help out, especially since I'm pretty much going to be in bed for the next week or so. Besides owing you big time, it'll be something to keep me distracted from my boredom."

"You don't owe me anything," he corrected her, taking her left hand in his and squeezing it. "You gave me a daughter. I think that more than makes up for a few meals and a temporary roof over your head."

"You've done more for me than help me out, and we both know it."

"We're never going to agree on this," Ryan realized, "so why don't you tell me about this big decision you made."

Eyeing him carefully, she knew he was right, that they would simply have to agree to disagree. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself, and, before she was aware of what was happening, a large, excited smile was on her beautiful face. "This town has one of everything," she explained. "It has a doctor, a lawyer, a dentist, a grocery store, a gas station, a pizza parlor, an ice cream stand, a movie theater. You name it; this town has it, except for one thing: a boutique. I might not know much, but living in Southern California and being a part of my ex's world taught me a thing or two about fashion. I know clothes, I know what kind of clothes look good on certain bodies, and I know how to shop, so why not make some money off one of the few things I understand?"

"You don't have to convince me," he told her earnestly. "I know that anything you set your mind to will be a success, but, if you feel confident in the idea of a boutique, then that's what you should do, because faith in yourself and your abilities will get you further than any of my encouragement."

"Don't sell yourself too short," Marissa chastised him. "I don't think you know how much your opinion matters to me."

"Well then, on that note," Ryan stood up and pulled her along with him, "why don't you tell me more about these plans of yours while I make us some lunch? Any requests?"

"Surprise me. I'm so happy right now, cardboard sounds delicious." And she was that happy – all because of one man's presence in her life. He had given her a home, friendship, her daughter, hope for the future, and the ability to fall in love again. She only wished she could do the same for him.

\ / \

She watched. She observed, she memorized and cherished, and she watched. For four weeks, she and her daughter had been home at the cabin with Ryan, and, still, Marissa could not take her eyes away from the father-daughter pair. Every little thing they did together mesmerized her, and she attempted to file away every moment, every instance of bonding so she could look back and remember those first special weeks for the rest of her life, but the attention she lavished upon them was two fold. It served another purpose as well. While she watched Ryan interact with their little girl, she also searched for clues of his feelings for her, and, finally, after a month of scrutiny, she knew how he felt. Unfortunately, that left her with another whole month of waiting.

Laying in bed that night after getting reassured that her feelings for her friend were not one sided, Marissa thought over her favorite moments that Ryan and Vivien had shared, hoping that it would distract her from her loneliness. There were cute, inexperienced moments of parenting, sweet moments that told of the doctor's love for the little girl he was helping her raise, and humorous moments she couldn't wait to tease him about, but none of them seemed to help alleviate the need she felt to be close to Ryan, something that couldn't happen for another four weeks when she would, with any luck, get a clean bill of health from the doctor. Ryan knew when her appointment was, and she was positive that he was simply waiting for that day to show her how he felt. Until then though, she would just have to be patient, and, with that thought in mind, she snuggled down under the thick layers of blankets, closed her eyes to block out the cold and stormy weather of early March, and let herself remember her most cherished Ryan-Vivien moments.

She could have kicked herself (if it would have been physically possible at the time which it wasn't) the day they returned from the hospital, because she did not have a camera to capture Ryan's very first attempts at changing a newborn's diaper. He had been so determined to figure it out, so focused on accomplishing the task at hand, that he never noticed her lurking outside the nursery doorway that afternoon when Vivi woke up from her nap. The befuddled doctor went through four diapers, managed to dump almost an entire container of baby wipes onto the floor, and somehow managed to get more powder on himself than he did on Vivien. By the time the diaper was on her little body, it was backwards, the wipe was still inside of it, and the baby had fallen back asleep while waiting for him to finish, but, instead of embarrassing Ryan or making him feel even worse, Marissa had simply thanked him for handling the changing for her and sent him on his way to clean up the kitchen while she slyly fixed his mistakes and righted the nursery once again. After that, she made sure that he was in the room with her the next time she dressed Vivien, talked her way through it as if she was explaining the process to the little girl, and, without damaging the doctor's ego, showed him the correct way to change a baby.

A week later, after a particularly fussy day, Marissa had been exhausted and Ryan had volunteered to rock Vivi to sleep while telling the infant her bedtime story. She had thanked him for his help and went off to bed early only to get up ten minutes later because she knew she'd never be able to sleep without giving her daughter a goodnight kiss and telling her that she loved her. As she approached the nursery though, she stumbled upon Ryan in the throes of his fairytale which was so amusing she simply could not walk away until she heard the entire thing. Before he got to the infamous '…and they lived happily after' line, there had been killer bears, bazookas, a car race, Tabasco sauce, aliens, and remote eating robots introduced into the tale, and, though she had to give him props for his creativity, she had gone out the next day to buy him some traditional storybooks. There was no reason to permanently scar their daughter if they didn't have to, even if it meant Ryan's imagination had to be curtailed. She shouldn't have been worried about his reaction though, because the doctor simply thanked her profusely for saving him from the task of creating another bedtime story and offered to help her pick out the next batch of books. He truly was wonderful…and amusing, two characteristics Marissa had not seen in a man in a long time.

Another thing she loved to do was watch Ryan when he was both taking care of Vivien and seeing to his patients. At his own insistence, they had purchased a carrier for the baby that he could wear and still maintain the use of his hands. Because she handled the nighttime feedings, he allowed her to sleep in, taking care of their little girl while she slept during the mornings. However, while she was resting, he had to take care of Vivi on his own, so the carrier came in quite handy. He would wear it all the time, greeting patients with the baby in his arms, introducing them all to his newborn daughter, and proudly sharing all her recent achievements, even if it was something as trivial as graduating from four ounce bottles to six. Never being a parent before, he thought that every little thing Vivien did was amazing, and Ryan made sure he shared those small, amazing moments with every person they saw. Many of his clients were parents themselves and some were even grandparents, but, luckily, they seemed to sense the new father's pride in his daughter and let him brag, and, as far as Marissa was concerned, his limitless level of love and pride in Vivien was a good thing, so she never once tried to dissuade him away from bragging. Besides, who was she kidding? She bragged just as much as he did.

However, there was easily one memory that stood out among all the rest as her favorite moment shared between the father and daughter pair, and it had just occurred that evening. After they had finished dinner, Vivi woke up wanting her bottle, so, with the television on so Marissa could watch one of her programs, Ryan had cuddled with their baby on the couch as he fed her, whispering words of reassurance, of nonsense, even those of medical jargon to her while she ate. Eventually, between the soft sounds of the doctor's voice and the consistent drone of the TV, both mother and daughter had fallen into a restless sleep. Marissa drifted in and out for several hours that night, but, as she opened her eyes for the last time, knowing it was late and she needed to go to bed, she found that Ryan and Vivien were still nestled together on the sofa, and he was talking to their sleeping daughter, trying to work out a code with her.

According to the doctor, he needed all the help Vivi could offer him if he wanted to figure out how the little girl's Mommy felt for him, and since she would someday be a woman herself, he figured she might have some insight into the female mind that he didn't. So, his plan was that he would ask her questions, and, if the answer was yes, she was to rub to her face, and, if it was no, she was to kick her feet. On and on the questions came, but Vivi was quite uncooperative until Ryan asked his final question. With bated breath, Marissa listened as the man she was falling in love with asked their infant daughter if her Mommy could ever care for him a more than just a friend, and, like the intelligent, insightful baby she was, Vivien had rubbed her face, making Ryan chuckle and thank her, despite the fact that he knew his method of investigation had a lot to be desired.

If only he knew…, Marissa thought to herself just as she was falling asleep. If only he knew how right their little girl had been.

\ / \

"You can't go to sleep yet, Princess. Mommy will be home soon, and you know she's going to want to kiss you goodnight, too."

Ryan had no idea that she was already home. She was hidden in the shadows cast by the saffron glow of an April twilight, silently watching as the two most important people in her life shared a tender moment. She and Ryan each had their nightly rituals with Vivien, and she loved nothing more than to watch him as he performed his with their daughter. However, despite loving seeing the two of them together, she had hope that soon their two rituals would be melded into one as they took another step closer to becoming the family she dreamed they could be.

The doctor's voice captured her attention again, and she allowed her wandering mind to drift back to the man she loved and the child they shared together. "Mommy had a really important day today. She went and had a check up to make sure that she's completely healed from giving birth to you." Marissa had gotten a clear bill of health. "She was going to visit with the real estate agent and start looking for a commercial property for her new boutique she wants to open soon, too." They had checked out several small shops, but she still wanted Ryan's opinion on it. Despite knowing how particular he could be about purchasing property, she had a feeling he might be more cooperative when looking for a place to house her store than he had been when she was looking for an apartment to move into. "And she had a mysterious errand to run. How much do you want to bet it had something to do with you, Sweetie?"

At that, Marissa had to smile indulgently. Ryan simply had no clue, but he was a man, so she really hadn't expected him to. Apparently, Vivi found her father to me amusing as well, because, in her own baby way, she applauded his clueless assumptions. With a few soft gurgles, which, in the process of making, she managed to make drool run down her cherubic face, and many swift, excited kicks of her tiny feet, she let the world know that she was happy and content, the picture of what Marissa thought to be the perfect baby.

"You know, little one, I think your Mommy is pretty amazing." Despite Marissa naming Ryan as the father on the birth certificate and despite the fact that he was helping her raise her daughter, he still did not consider himself Vivien's Dad, and, although he never said a thing, the new Mom was almost certain it was because he felt it wasn't something he could take, that it was a gift that he had to be given, either by Vivien herself or by Marissa. "When I see the two of you together, when I watch her feed and bathe you, when I watch her play with you and talk to you and rock you to sleep, I realize that I'm finally happy, that I finally have a real home and a family. Your Mommy gave that to me, just as she will give you the world if you let her. I never knew that a person could love so selflessly until I met your Mommy, and, after watching her with you, I realized that not only is it possible but that I have the ability to love like that, too. It's a pretty scary thing, Princess, scary but incredible, and, someday when you're my age and I'm too senile to realize what's happening, you'll fall in love, too."

Suddenly, it felt as if Marissa couldn't breathe, as if there was a vice around her heart stilling it in an effort to freeze the moment. Quietly, she stepped away from the nursery, not wanting to alert either Ryan or their daughter to the fact that she was already home and had been listening into their conversation. Two months ago, she had hoped that Ryan returned her feelings, she had wished for him to someday fall in love with her. A month ago, after hearing him ask Vivien questions late one stormy March night, she had believed he was on his way to caring about her on a deeper level. And then, five minutes before, she had come home with plans to show him how much she felt for him, dreaming that maybe her emotions could inspire his and they could start working on a relationship together, only to learn that he already felt the same way.

However, never in her wildest dreams did she let herself imagine that Ryan's feelings were as deep and as profound as hers were. Things like that, things that beautiful, that flawless, didn't happen to her…at least they hadn't until her life starting spinning out of control and she found herself in the vary capable hands of one Doctor Ryan Atwood. It was astounding to her to realize that one car accident had caused so many good things to happen in her life.

With a heart that was still skipping beats every several seconds, breathing that was so erratic she wasn't sure how she would make it through the next few minutes, and a fire already enflamed low in her belly for what she was anticipating to happen next, Marissa made her way back down the hallway, causing enough noise and commotion to alert Ryan to her presence but being quiet enough so that she wouldn't disturb the almost sleeping baby.

"Hey," the doctor greeted her, looking up from the bassinet. As soon as their gazes met, a rakish, warm smile curved his lips upwards and made the desire inside her course even more quickly through her bloodstream. "I didn't hear the car pull in. How did everything go today?"

She could tell that she surprised him when she moved to his side, close enough for their bodies to brush together from shoulder to thigh. Tilting her head in his direction, she responded in a whisper. "Things went well, but we'll talk about it later, okay?" After he nodded in agreement, she turned back to the infant before them, a little girl who was quickly falling asleep, her delicate eyelids fluttering shut over her dark blue irises. "Baby girl, Mommy missed you today. Were you a good girl?"

"Isn't she always?"

Marissa chuckled softly before consenting, "yes, I guess she is." Leaning down, she held her hair back while brushing a tender kiss across her daughter's brow. As she stood back up, she let her hand caress the sleeping baby's chubby cheek, her voice a mere whisper again as she said, "sleep tight, Angel. Mommy and Daddy love you."

She could feel Ryan tense beside her, his body becoming rigid with surprise. Circling around so that they were face to face, chest to chest, body to body, she let her heart lead her and reached out to gently cup the doctor's face, tipping it up so that their gazes met again. Ryan never blinked once as she talked.

"You are more than just her father, you know; you're the Daddy my daughter deserves and the only one our little girl will ever know. She loves you, just as much as you love her, and, even though she can't tell us that herself, I know it. I can see it in her eyes when you walk into a room, I can see it in the way her tiny, little form melts into yours when you cradle her in your arms, and I can see it when its your calming voice that soothes her to sleep at night when she doesn't feel well. You're her Daddy, Ryan."

The handsome man before her was speechless for several moments. Finally, he swallowed roughly several times before it was her turn to be surprised when he pulled her into an intimate, tender embrace, whispering "thank you" in her ear before holding her to him even closer. After several minutes of a hug that lasted much longer than appropriate for mere friends, Marissa separated their bodies but maintained contact with him by reaching down to hold his hand, tugging him after her as she left the nursery. Together, without a word, they walked down the hallway and stopped outside of her bedroom door.

He leaned towards her once more in a gesture to say goodnight, but she wouldn't let him complete his action. Instead, she squeezed his hand tighter, pushed her bedroom door open, and, with her imploring eyes alone, asked him to enter with her. He did, and, still without speaking, they made their way towards the bed which had once been his, was now hers, and would soon be theirs. As she stopped to face him, his azure eyes boring deeply into her own sapphire ones, his uncertainty, his hope, his questions being communicated to her silently, everything she had planned to say to him left her mind with one simple exhale of the pent up, nervous energy she had been holding inside of her.

"I love you," she blurted out, immediately blushing but not caring anymore. She needed to tell him how she felt, embarrassment be damned. "I know it might seem too fast, because we've only known each other for four months, but I don't care. I know how I feel, and I've already wasted too much of my life keeping my emotions inside. I want you to know how I feel; I want everyone to know. I'm in love with you, for the rest of my life, soul mate, you steal the very breath out of my body, knees quaking, head spinning, stomach churning, I feel so wonderful I think I could fly in love with you, and I don't expect you to…"

The rest of her words were cut off and swallowed when Ryan's mouth came crashing down on top of hers. His hands lifted to cup her face as if he needed to pull her as close to him as he possibly could, and her arms moved to encircle around his shoulders, her fingers dancing through the long, sandy blonde locks on the nape of her neck. Kissing him was everything she had dreamed it would be and so much more, and, before Marissa realized what was happening, they were both naked and vulnerable in each others arms, making love.

He worshipped her body, savoring both its beauty and its imperfections. To him, her flaws were things to be revered, for they were a part of her, and he wanted everything she had to give him. He matched her passion, heightened it, challenged her to reach levels of desire and pleasure she had before not known were possible. He teased her in bed and made her laugh, showing her that true intimacy was something deeper than just a physical connection. And, when their bodies finally reached the culmination of their ecstasy, spiraling out of control into a world of sheer bliss and sensory enjoyment, he tore his lips from her own, locked their gazes together, and made her existence complete.

"I love you, too," Ryan whispered just as they fell off a cliff of absolute rapture together, one Marissa was unsure she'd ever be able to climb back out of, let alone want to. She was absolutely, 100, crazily, out of control in love with the man collapsed on top of her body and still buried deep inside of her, and she would want it no other way. With him and their daughter and their love for each other, she was finally home, and the pain she had lived through before to reach that point seemed trivial. Every tear, every moment of loneliness, every self doubt and insecurity from her past had gotten her to that very moment, and, for that, she was thankful. Providence, in the long run, had worked out for her, because, by leaving one existence behind, she had found the life she was meant to live. Never had spinning out of control felt so wonderful.


End file.
